


where'd all the time go?

by heartsighss



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, First Meetings, Fluff, Gen, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, M/M, Miscommunication, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, dream goes to london, no beta we die like its our last canon life, oblivious idiots actually in love the whole time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:09:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 71,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25412170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartsighss/pseuds/heartsighss
Summary: It’s four am when George gets the text.He’s confused at first, although maybe it’s the sleep deprivation that makes him slow to the punch. Either way, George blinks blearily at his phone screen in confusion for way too long.Or, Dream arrives in London, George isn't prepared in the slightest.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 409
Kudos: 2251





	1. where'd all the time go?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer - Of course, if either George or Dream decide/say that they feel uncomfortable about shipping/fanfiction I will delete this. But for now, just know this is a bit of fun and nothing too serious.

It's four am when George gets the text.

Dream is lucky that he's been awake for hours trying to finish editing a video that has too many many visual glitches and audio malfunctions to deal with. He really needs to hire an editor.

He's confused at first, although maybe it's the sleep deprivation that makes him slow to the punch. Either way, George blinks blearily at his phone screen in confusion for way too long.

**DREAM**   
_Come pick me up from the airport_

George sits back in his chair, staring long enough that another text comes through.

**DREAM**   
_London's warmer than I thought it was going to be._

That's because despite what Dream likes to think London isn't the fucking Antarctic. George is too confused to snarkily reply anything though.

Instead, he settles on three question marks.

He's starting to think that sometime between getting up this morning (1 pm) and editing all day (laying in bed for three hours after waking, sitting in a Discord call with Quackity before he remembered he's supposed to have a video coming out tomorrow) that he's missed some sort of conversation in which Dream decided to come to London.

If so he'd like to rewind for a moment, take a breather to just figure out if Dream is telling the truth — because George is starting to think he's hallucinating.

**DREAM**   
_Pick me up from the airport!!_

Dream replies, instead of elaborating, instead of maybe explaining to his best friend what the fuck is going on. Because that would be the sensible, normal thing to do. And Dream is clearly anything but sensible or normal. George huffs and presses his hands to his eyes for a long moment, hoping he can wipe the lethargic feeling away.

The problem is that George has never even seen Dream before. So how is he expected to believe that Dream is in London, at the airport, waiting for George to come and pick him up?  
  


**GEORGE**   
_Is this a prank?? if this a prank_   
_I'm going to be so mad. It's four am Dream._

**DREAM**   
_You answered, didn't you?_

God, he can practically hear Dream's cocky tone. George sighs.

 **GEORGE**  
 _Just tell me what's going on?_

For a moment, the text bubble with three dots pops up, indicating Dream is typing out a reply. Whatever it is, it seems to be taking him forever. Eventually, the bubble disappears and George is left staring in anticipation until his screen darkens and his vision goes blurry. He blinks.

His phone vibrates, coming to life as a call comes through, the contact reading _'DREAM_ 😫🥺💕 _'_. Which _is_ a joke, despite the raised eyebrow his sister gave him when she saw it for the first time.

George barely waits a second for the call to connect before he is shouting down the line.

"Dream what the fuck do you mean you're at the airport? You can't just message someone that at four am! I could have been asleep and missed it and you would be stranded—" George can hear Dream chuckling on the other end while he speaks, a rolling baritone that usually gets George cracking up too, only this time he's not in on the joke with Dream, "—Even worse, if you're lying and I go to the airport and you're not there I will hunt you down and kill you."

"This isn't funny." He sighs in frustration, running his fingers through the knots in his unbrushed hair.

"George." Dream's amused tone rolls down the line, clearly entertained by George's exasperation.

"Dream." George sighs, so done already.

"Please come and pick me up from the airport. I'm not lying— I can prove it, listen!"

There's a moment where George doesn't hear much of anything, then a muffled (but obviously British) intercom voice calls: _'Final boarding for flight GLT564 to Amsterdam–'_

George's posture straightens. It becomes startlingly clear that Dream is not in fact lying. He's in London, in the flesh. Waiting for George to pick him up.

The other shoe drops and George makes a strangled noise of frustration. His hand goes through his hair again, the unfinished video on his PC now forgotten. He'll have to sort it out another time, this is much more important.

"Are you coming?" Dream says, his tone still so annoyingly amused.

George rolls his eyes, wanting to rush to the airport to either punch him or hug him. He can probably do both.

"Yes, of course, I'm coming. I don't even know which airport you're at Dream." He switches the phone to speaker, scrambling a little with shock.

Standing from the chair, George stretches his aching back out. It's been too long since he's stood and so he goes a little dizzy, vision-spotting for a moment. George squeezes his eyes shut so he doesn't fall back into his chair.

"Uh..." Dream trails off in response to the question, clearly as in the dark as George is.

"Are you serious?" George's eyes snap open. "You don't know which airport you're at?"

"... I forgot."

George sighs. "You're serious."

"Whatever, if I knew you were going to bully me I would have asked someone else to pick me up." Despite his complaining, George can hear the smile in Dream's voice.

"Like who?"

"Your mom." Dream mutters, further proving he has the sense of humour of a thirteen-year-old.

"Ugh. You're the worst. I'm actually hanging up. You can find your own way here Dream." 

"No wait," Dream swallows his laughter, "I'm looking for a sign, give me a minute."

In the time it takes to find out where in the world Dream is, George manages to cross the room and grab the first pair of shoes he can find. He slides back into his chair, pulling a pair of converse onto his feet.

"Gatwick! I'm at Gatwick Airport!" Dream exclaims, just as the first shoe has been toed on.

"Okay," George picks up the phone, speaking directly into it. "Hold on. I'm on my way."

"Holding on!" Dream sings and George ends the call.

He finishes putting on his shoes and lacing them up as quickly as he can, darting to the wardrobe and grabbing whatever jacket his hand lands on. A denim one that he hasn't worn for a long time. Sure, that will do. He shoves it on over the top of the hoodie he's already wearing.

Grabbing his keys, George scratches his cat behind the ears and leaves his flat as quickly as he can.

All George can think about is how surreal this feels. 

It's four am and Dream's at the airport (apparently?).

He's still half-sure this is some very elaborate prank — to what end George doesn't know. But either way, anticipation floods through him at the thought of meeting Dream, of seeing Dream for the first time ever.

It's why he's so conflicted about this even being real. Because no one just hops on a ten-hour flight to London to meet someone for the first time. Granted they've known each other for years. But still, no forewarning or plan in place. Not even telling the best friend he's supposed to meet.

Dream is probably the only person in the world stupid enough to actually do something like this, George realises.

It's probably the cold that's got his fingers feeling like they've got pins and needles, but it might be something else.

He has to get a train to Gatwick Airport, luckily the Underground station that will take him isn't too far from his flat. He's quick to work his way down and past the ticket barrier. Knowing he'll need all the time he can spare for the forty minutes it takes to get to the Gatwick stop.

The carriage is partially full, people with overnight bags and large, bulging suitcases filling the space. George grabs an empty seat next to a window and wills the train to move faster.

A leg-bouncing, hand-sweating, heart-racing forty-three and a half minutes later he arrives at the Gatwick stop.

George pulls out his phone and reviews the string of texts that Dream had sent him whilst he had no service on the underground train. All of them as annoying as expected. Is it too late to turn back?  
  


**DREAM**   
_Hurry up, I'm so bored_

**DREAM**  
 _Have you fallen asleep_ _?_

**DREAM**   
_Think I'm going to be like that guy who just lived in an airport for like twenty years fr_

**DREAM**   
_Wait why is everyone in England so mean?? bri'ish people be like, oi bruv wotch wer yer fookin goin mate and then just body slam you_

**DREAM**   
_Duuudee are u here?_

George replies quickly: 

**GEORGE**   
_I can't believe people think you're cool..._

**DREAM**   
_Where are youuu?????_   
  


It's as George walks towards the arrivals lounge that he realises something crucial. Something he hasn't yet had time to consider.

He won't even be able to recognise Dream in the crowds. George stops short, blinking at the mass of people moving across his vision, narrowly avoiding a power-walking businessman in a three-piece suit and a glare to rival the sun's.

George looks around for anyone else who might want to walk into him and then pulls out his phone, quickly calling Dream.

"Are you here yet?" The words are out of Dream's mouth before the call before George can even get a word in.

"Yeah—"

"Took you long enough! I could have flown to Florida and back in the time I've waited!"

"Dream, I swear to God. I will leave you here if you don't shut up." He hears Dream chuckle. "I've just remembered I don't even know what you look like, you're going to have to come and find me."

"Which one do you want me to do first?"

George squints, already expecting a punchline. "What?"

"Come or find you?"

"You're disgusting," George sighs out, more of an afterthought of a reply than anything. He's well used to Dream's _'humour'._ "I'm leaving you here. Bye Dream..." George pulls the phone slowly away from his face as he says it.

"No!" He hears Dream shout.

_He hears Dream._

Loud enough that it definitely wasn't just through the speaker of George's phone. No, this voice George heard with his own two ears. He glances about, still not knowing who he's looking for. He thinks of dirty-blond hair and green eyes. Of all the things that have ever been described to him. Even considering Sapnap's vague descriptions from the countless times he's rubbed it in that he knows what Dream looks like and George still doesn't.

"Can you see me?" George scans the crowds.

For what is now five in the morning, the airport is still busy. Though George doesn't think Gatwick airport is ever completely quiet.

"Tell me what you're next to. You're clearly too short to see, can you jump up and down or something?"

"I'm going to hit you so fucking hard." George sighs.

Dream cackles so loud that George knows, for sure, that he hears it. His eyes finally land on the back of a head that makes George pause and squint. The guy is slightly hunched over in laughter, a phone pressed against his ear.

His hair is darker than George is expecting. Darker than the almost golden-blond colour he's seen drawn in fanart posted on Twitter. More brown than anything but where the light hits it, it seems a little golden. Wavy and kind of long. As though he goes too far between haircuts to keep it a consistent length.

"I think I see you." George breathes out slowly. "Turn around."

The person, Dream, spins fast, eyes flitting over people until eventually, they spot George. His face breaks out into a grin and George knows it's him.

George tries to make sense of who he sees, connect this face to every possible interaction with Dream.

His entire face is lit up and it's easy to see how much he must smile. His smile is big, teeth straight, a slight dimple on just the one side. Nose a little crooked — like its been broken before, half-moon scar across the bridge of it that tells him it was a gnarly accident.

He's less got freckles and more got scattered moles on his face that fall away down his neck, eventually hidden by the hoodie he's wearing. Dream's wearing his own merch. Of course he is.

"If I get closer, you have to promise not to punch me." He hears through the phone, sees the words leave Dream's mouth and enter his ear. George finally gets to see the grin he's only ever heard. Beaming, infectious.

"I'm not going to punch you, idiot." He's still taken aback. George's hands are sweaty and his heart is beating a little too fast with nervousness. It's sort of surreal and despite feeling tired moments ago, despite running on no energy, George has never felt so awake.

These are the sum total of things that George already knew about Dream's appearance before meeting him: wavy-ish dirty-blond hair, green eyes and tall.

What he didn't expect was how inaccurate it all seems when he actually sees Dream for the first time. Or at least, how incomparable they are to the real thing.

He knows what to expect, yet it still takes a while for his brain to figure it all out. Dream is tall, 6'3 and looks every inch of it. George has lots of tall friends, but he sort of feels like it's a joke how tall Dream is compared to him.

He knows Dream's eyes are green.

It's just George's luck that he can't see green.

The thing is he has no other frame of reference for what green looks like, George just sees what he sees - some sort of darker shade of yellow. It's been this way all his life and so even though he sees things differently, it isn't a bad thing. It doesn't always cost them points in Minecraft competitions where he has to find all the colours of the rainbow.

Dream's eyes are green, George knows this with all his heart. But colours don't matter so much when you're looking into someone's eyes for the first time. Colour isn't an important thing at all, it's just seeing all the things that make up your best friends face. And Dream has pretty eyes, no matter the colour.

"Um.. hello." Dream's smile falls lopsided, the one dimple showing slightly. Awkward all of a sudden now they're stood in front of each other. Like they're reintroducing themselves for the first time, bumbling and unsure.

The hand Dream's using to hold his phone to his ear falls down to his side. George follows suit.

"Hi." George can't remember half of what he wanted to say.

They hug before anything else, straight into each other's arms. With Dream's hand-clapping against George's back. Dream is warm and has the lingering smell of whatever deodorant he wears, stale plane air and something earthy. They pull away before George can get used to the feel of Dream's arms around him. But it's alright, they have time to learn.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title — where'd all the time go by dr. dog
> 
> here is the completed playlist for this fic! each chapter has a title song and sometimes extra songs too! [enjoy!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7qOHvo7rLvXuCZmUEVDjz0)
> 
> and [here](https://www.wattpad.com/story/258414213-where%27d-all-the-time-go-%E2%9C%A9-dnf) is the link to this fic but on wattpad, if you would prefer to read it there!


	2. you'll be on my mind

Twenty minutes into meeting for the first time, at around five am, Dream snaps a picture of George. Blinking tiredly in the seat opposite as the train rolls on back to London.

The Underground has made time seem little more than a vague concept. Lighting artificial and just a smidge too bright. Despite his tiredness, George isn’t sure he could even sleep if he tried.

Minutes after Dream not-so-subtly takes the picture, George discovers that it has been posted on Dream’s second Twitter account. Just the picture, George half-slumped in his seat, sunk into his hoodie with his eyes dozing shut. No comment necessary. It takes not two whole minutes after posting for Sapnap's reply to light up George’s mentions. An all caps _‘WHAT THE FUCK??????’_ That has Dream cackling (definitely replying something snarky) and George grinning uncontrollably.

Predictably, their followers are going batshit about Dream and George meeting in the replies. When George refreshes his feed, his timeline looks like something not even aliens could comprehend. Dream starts reading out some of the funnier replies to George, mirth alive in his eyes. Already, there are people debating if it’s real or if this is just ‘the vlog’ part two. Dream’s clearly enjoying the chaos he has purposefully created, his eyes squinting in delight as he scrolls through Twitter.

George notes how strange it is, seeing someone’s reactions to things after only hearing them for so long. As though something has finally clicked into place, something George didn’t even realise was missing.

He finds himself agreeing with Sapnap, _what the fuck_ indeed.

Dream grins at another tweet, a huff of a laugh falling from his lips, unaware of George’s brain whirring like some broken machine.

They arrive at George’s Underground stop. Identical to most others, it’s a little bit dingy, the walls lined with neat rows of advertising posters, off-white tiled walls. An overflowing bin, next to it a neat row of empty bottles next to it as though someone has taken the time to place them there individually. Though that may be some new type of street art George is unaware of, a comment on the state of the world or society or bins and such. 

Dream looks around as if the plain off-white brick of the Underground platform wall is something intriguing. He ticks with energy at George’s side, a stupid grin on his face as he waits for George to move them on. George is distracted by the intensity of it. If this is what Dream’s smiles are always like he doesn’t know how he’s going to handle it. 

You really wouldn’t think he’d just travelled ten hours to get here. George can’t quite remember what sleeping feels like at this point.

George leads the way to the escalator where they’ll rise slowly to Ground level. “Is Sapnap actually mad then?” George asks.

“Mad that he didn’t get invited, yeah.” Dream snorts, glancing at a poster that they glide past, advertising some new book or movie or play that is coming soon.

“You really didn’t tell anyone about this did you?”

“I saw my mom before I left and texted my sister.” Dream shrugs.

George stares at him in shocked wonder, though quickly it’s replaced by a confounding stare. “You’re such an idiot. What would you have done if I was asleep when you texted me? Just wandered about London like a lost puppy?”

“I hedged my bets you’d be awake, your sleep schedule is as fucked as mine.”

“You were lucky.” George can only be amused at his friend's idiocy, it all worked out in the end he supposes. In all honesty, even if Dream hadn’t surprised him like this, George wouldn’t have been asleep now. He’d be in call with Dream and Sapnap or streaming with Karl and Quackity. Sleep drunk and slightly delusional, but awake none the less.

Once they’re above ground, on the quiet street outside the station, Dream comes to a standstill, taking a deep breath of the crisp morning air. He looks around like he can’t get enough of it all. It’s just the street outside the station. There’s graffiti on the wall that has been there for as long as George has lived in the area, colourful and slightly worn away, a side-profile of a beautiful dark-skinned woman, flowers are woven into her braided hair. Across the road is the off-license, only useful for buying milk or a bottle of coke when you’re on your way out and about. As they continue their walk to George’s flat, they pass a row of terraced townhouses that cost in a months rent what George makes from YouTube AdSense in a year. Down the way, there’s a Wetherspoons where he goes sometimes with his old Uni mates. Quite the boring old London. Nothing much to see.

The sky is a dusky shade of black and blue. The moon hangs low in the smog as the slow ascent to daylight begins. George’s eye twitches tiredly, next to him Dream bounces on his heels. Like he’s had too much caffeine.

A jogger huffs past in the opposite direction, the cool morning air visible with every outwards breath.

Dream keeps looking over. George doesn't know what to make of it. He thinks Dream is expecting George to tell him what they’re doing nest, point out the things they pass as though Big Ben is just waiting around the corner. But George has nothing to say, he’s breathless and still a little too stunned.

The small suitcase Dream lugs behind him bounces off an uneven paving stone for a moment, rattling as it hits a crack in the cobble. It breaks George’s daze and he shares a matching crooked grin with Dream.

“Could really use that scooter now.” Dream says it’s a relic from the past, in real-time a couple months, in terms of fandom memes, it’s buried six feet under.

George smirks at him balefully.

“ _Scooter boy go brr._ ” He replies because he knows that it will get a sigh out of Dream. It does.

“Sooo,” Dream let’s the word drag out, “what are we doing tomorrow, or today I guess?” His tone is enthusiastic, gaze searching.

“Sleeping.” George raises an eyebrow - he genuinely can’t even think of doing anything other than crawling into bed right now.

Dream looks at George like he’s the insane one. “That’s boring. If I’m going to be in London, I don’t want to waste time sleeping?” He whines.

“Some of us need sleep to exist Dream.” George deadpans. They cut across the road, making a beeline for George’s flat - the city sights will most certainly have to wait for another day, or until George has at least lay his head on a pillow for a couple of hours.

“How long are you even planning on staying?” George asks quickly, it probably sounds rude. But Dream is definitely the rude one dropping into a country unannounced.

Dream shrugs in reply.

“You don’t know?”

“I may not have booked a return flight yet.” Correction: in this instance, ‘may not’ is obsolete when one knows for sure they most certainly have not. “I was just going to see how long you’d keep me around before you got sick of me.”

“How soon can you book a flight back.” 

“Okay, rude!” Dream chokes out a shocked laugh.

Then, feeling nice for once, George adds with a shrug: “Stay as long as you like, it’ll probably be you who gets sick of me first anyways.” George shrugs.

Dream gives him a long look, voice softer than expected. “As if I’d get sick of you.”

George ducks his head, letting Dream see him roll his eyes in reply. “Whatever.”

They reach the entrance to the block of flats George lives in, stepping inside then walking up the creaky old stairs. It’s an old Victorian-era building, repurposed by some estate agency into different flats on each floor. George gets the high-ceilings of an old house, though not a lot of the space or grandeur. They reach the first floor where his flat is. Upon reaching it, George pauses outside the door. He had forgotten a very important detail up until now. “I don’t have anywhere for you to sleep.”

Dream frowns, confused. “Don’t you have a spare room or something?”

George laughs sharply, “I don't know how much you think rent costs in London, but this is classed as a ‘big’ flat and it has four rooms total.”

“Oh."

George unlocks the door, they step inside, barely in the doorway and George gestures around. His flat is pretty nice for living alone in central London but it’s probably not like Dream’s house in Florida. Which he is starting to suspect is a secret McMansion or something from what Dream has said and the rare photos he has seen.

“You have a sofa?” It’s surely a rhetorical question, considering Dream is looking at it, it sits only a few metres away.

“No, I sit on the floor, clearly.” George deadpans.

“I’ll just sleep on that then.” Dream rolls his eyes.

“I’m not sure the floor’s very comfortable to sleep on Dream.” George continues in the same toneless way as before, though his mouth curls up, teeth showing just a little.

“Oh shut up idiot! It’s fine, I’ll just sleep on the sofa. I’ve slept in worse places.”

“Do I want to know?”

“Probably not.”

“If you’re sure,” George’s sentence is caught off guard by a yawn, “—I can book you a hotel or something. It might not be very comfortable.” George frowns at his sofa, beckoning Dream further into the flat as they close the door behind them.

“Dude, I came here to see you, so I’m staying with you. Unless you want me sleeping with you I don’t mind the sofa.” Then, quickly Dream adds, “Unless you don’t even want me staying here.” He rubs at his neck. “I realise I’ve just dumped myself on you.”

“Dream,” George says, which means: _shut up idiot, I don’t mind._

“I mean, we can share.” George shrugs - he really really does not care at this point. His bedroom is only a few steps away and George is planning on collapsing in it as soon as he can. They can sort out proper sleeping arrangements tomorrow.

“Well, alright then, guess we’re sharing.” Dream agrees, wide-eyed.

George just shrugs again. He figures Dream is more tired than he seems if he’s not arguing on this.

Dream pushes his suitcase aside, looking around George’s flat with intrigue. For a moment, George feels embarrassed. It’s messier than he’d have liked with someone over. And people don’t usually look so interested in the nerdy decor on the floating shelves above his TV, Dream raises an arm, picks up a TIE fighter replica and turns to George with a raised eyebrow.

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Dream snorts, he looks genuinely interested in everything on the shelves despite his teasing.

George yawns and brushes a hand through his hair.

It’s twenty past five in the morning and they’re stood in George’s living room inspecting decor when they could be sleeping.

George makes the executive decision to go to bed instead of just longing for it. That just gets you nowhere and more tired than you ought to be. “You coming?” He yawns again, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand as he heads to his bedroom door.

Dream puts the TIE fighter back on the shelf, blinking for a moment with an unfamiliar expression on his face. George realises all of Dream’s expressions are unfamiliar to him. He hopes with time he can find them all out before Dream leaves for home.

“I could use some sleep.” Dream shrugs.

George’s PC is whirring softly across the room, though the monitors are off. It would be the sensible thing to do to shut it down properly, but the white noise doesn’t bother him and George really, really can’t be arsed to deal with it right now. So instead he kicks off his shoes and collapses onto the right side of his double bed.

“You’re still wearing jeans.” He hears Dreams’ muffled reply, George’s head is already buried into his pillow.

“Don’t care. Sleep.” He’s pretty sure he replies, already his head has grown fuzzy and disconnected from the world around him. George hears Dream shuffling around for a moment, then the bed shifts as he climbs into the other side.

By the time a quiet, “Goodnight” is whispered, George is already dead to the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter song - you'll be on my mind by jakob ogawa


	3. english morning

Waking up is a confusing affair, in that there is something off-kilter about the way George is laying and he’s pretty sure his cat snuck onto the bed sometime in the night because he’s oddly warm on one side.

Though, George doesn’t think it’s possibly his cat that could be snoring this loud.

Awareness comes back to him in a long moment as he stretches his sleep-stiff legs. Last night. The texts. The airport. Dream. Awareness also comes with the discomfort of waking up still wearing the jeans and jacket he’d shoved on last night to go and get Dream. George blinks groggily then paws around with a numb hand until he finds his phone, still in the pocket of his jacket.

It’s a struggle to sit himself up when all he wants to do is submit to the warm comfort of sleep, but he prevails. Eyes half shut as he removes his uncomfortable clothing. First his jacket. Then, standing clumsily, he rids himself of his jeans too. Careful and quiet as possible, he doesn’t want to wake Dream. He sits back on the bed in just his boxers and hoodie and stares into space for a long moment until his mind and body get the energy to glance at his phone.

George opens it to numerous messages, a couple from Karl and a spam of texts from Quackity, he ignores them all. Instead, opening Twitter to find that Sapnap has gone dark, the phrase ‘DREAM’S IN LONDON’ trended worldwide at some point and that the timeline is full of people analysing the photo Dream took of him looking sleepy on the train.

Business as usual it seems.

Exiting Twitter, George shoots Sapnap a text. He’ll get to trying to comprehend Karl and Quackity's messages later. Sapnap’s the one who deserves an update on what is happening, considering Dream didn’t even bother telling _him_ that he was flying to England. And also, George can’t help but tease.

**GEORGE  
** _Dream snores so loud._

He’s not sure what time it is in Texas but Sapnap’s reply is almost instant.

**SAPNAP**   
_YOU SLEPT WITH DREAM ? GOOD FOR U DUDE!!_

George snorts, trust Sapnap to turn sharing a bed with your friend into something that it isn't. Still, it is the reaction he’d been baiting.

**  
GEORGE  
** _No. We just shared the bed bc he's an idiot and didn't book a hotel. Anyway you're just jealous_

**SAPNAP**   
_OF YOU?? AHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAAHHA  
_

**GEORGE**   
_Shut up sappitus nappitus  
_

**SAPNAP**   
_shut up georgie-poo_

**GEORGE**   
_You're gross  
_

**SAPNAP**   
_no <3  
_

**SAPNAP  
** _is georgie-poo not what dream calls you now you've slept together? :]_ **  
**

**GEORGE**   
_Jealousy is a disease <3  
_

**SAPNAP**   
_NOOOO GEORGE I'M SORRY plz come back  
_

**GEORGE**   
_that's what i thought you'd say  
_

**GEORGE**   
_now go away u smell  
_

**SAPNAP**   
_heart been broke so many times..._

  
With that, George drops his phone onto the pillow next to him and leans back against the headboard. It’s 11 am, not even a full five hours since they fell asleep in the first place. Though George supposes if he doesn’t want to fuck up their sleep schedule too much they should probably wake up and try to retain some form of normalcy.

He lets his eyes rest on the other man.

Dream sleeps like any other twenty-one-year-old guy lacking spatial awareness, limbs sprawled carelessly, face smushed into the pillow. His hair is a mess and his mouth hangs open a little.

George can’t fight off the smile on his face. He supposes it won’t hurt if he lets Dream sleep a little longer. He stands again, stretching his arms above his head and hearing the satisfying click of his back. George crosses the bedroom to his PC, turning it on as he slides into the desk chair.

The abandoned video from last night appears when his monitors light up and although George needs to get it finished, he’s really not in the mood to spend a couple of hours on it when Dream is in London with him. Call him lazy, call him a procrastinator, George knows how he’d rather spend his time.

Across the room George hears a groan, spinning around in his chair, he’s met with the sight of Dream stirring. He’s a mess of dark-blond hair and a stray leg poking out from under the duvet. It looks like he was smart enough to take off his jeans before getting into bed, unlike George. His long legs are bare. After a moment of shuffling, Dream’s head rises from the covers that consume him and he looks around the room, blinking sleepily.

“Time is it?” He grumbles, voice low and rough from waking. He squints at George, not quite opening his eyes and not quite seeing anything - like the effort is just too much. Jet lag has most definitely caught up with him.

“Six minutes past eleven.” George grins, glancing at the corner of his monitor to double-check. Dream huffs in reply, his head falling back down onto the pillows.

Dream doesn’t say anything else - sleepiness clearly winning against the fight to stay awake. Though it’s not much of a fight when he has surrendered to it so willingly. George laughs quietly to himself, Dream was the one who wanted to stay up and explore London at five am and now he’s the one who won’t wake for it.

Not having the heart to wake the Floridian just yet, George gets up from his computer chair. If he’s going to have the energy to do anything today he needs to get some caffeine in his system immediately.

Heading to the kitchen, George fills the electric kettle with water from the tap, flicking it on once it’s full and settled on the stand. He uses the time waiting for it to boil to be productive. By staring into space, head empty. Then finds himself staring specifically at Dream’s suitcase where it was left in the middle of the living room space. It’s fairly small, George frowns, even though Dream said he didn’t have formal plans to return soon. It sets in just how last minute this was for Dream as much as it was for George. What made him decide to come to London without any warning? Because Dream can be hot-headed sometimes, but he usually thinks things through. Especially big things like expensive plane tickets across the Atlantic.

The case is a persistent reminder that despite what Dream says, there’s a deadline to all of this. Soon enough, Dream is going to have to go home. So that he can continue doing his job and for real-life to carry on. George is going to have to make the most out of every day he can get.

The cat at his feet distracts George from his thoughts, she rubs her face against his shins, tail flicking as she purrs. He strokes her soft fur until she wanders off in the direction of the bedroom - clearly done receiving her fill of attention.

The kettle finishes boiling and George puts a teabag in a mug that says ‘Happy Birthday Grandma!’ in hot pink lettering - a relic from the time he lived in his old university flat with his mates.

He sips at his tea, puts food in his cat’s bowl and stares forlornly at the crispy looking plant on the windowsill that George’s not sure he’s ever watered. He takes a clean glass that has been sat on the drying rack and partially fills it with water, mercifully watering the poor parched thing. Though he thinks it may be a little beyond saving at this point. A dead leaf flutters down onto the windowsill. George sighs.

While he passes time he contemplates how he’s going to entertain Dream on his first day here. There’s so much to do that George struggles to pick anything. First on the agenda is definitely going to be to go and get something to eat. Because George can’t cook for shit and he’d really rather not embarrass himself in front of company. They can decide what to do with the rest of the day whilst they’re eating.

At a quarter to twelve George gets sick of flicking between apps absentmindedly so decides it’s about time he woke Dream up.

The sun is high in the sky at this point, which means despite the blinds being shut in his bedroom daylight pours in through any crevice it can infiltrate. It crawls across the room in honey-golden lines, creating stripes of light and shade. Dream’s head is hidden under the covers - clearly trying to escape the break of day. He’s managed to almost completely conceal himself away from it, apart from a stray foot and a hint of elbow.

“Dream?” George says uncertainly, stepping into his bedroom. He sways just inside the doorway.

He calls his friends name again, slightly louder, unsure of how he wants to go about this.

The cat is curled at the foot of the bed, taking up her usual sleeping spot. Her little head looks up at George, tail flicking. _Great_ , he’s woken the laziest cat in England and Dream is still snoring in his bed.

“Dream,” George repeats, on the verge of a shout. The bed cover shifts a little bit, but Dream just disappears further under the covers.

“Clay.” George sings instead when it grows clearer that Dream is just purposefully ignoring him in favour of getting a few more morsels of sleep.

Deciding action is the best method, George grabs onto an edge of quilt with his hands and quickly pulls as hard as he can. Dream’s eyes flash open, he yelps in surprise. Somehow he manages to catch part of the cover with a hand and yank it back towards himself.

George laughs in surprise.

“No!” Dream whines, somewhat childishly. They end up in a game of tug of war with the quilt, Dream getting both hands on one side, George stood tugging the other.

“I’m doing this for your own good, you’re only going to mess up your sleep schedule.”

“Just let me sleep!”

“No! You can sleep when you’re dead.”

“You’re going to have to kill me then because I’m not moving!” Dream yanks the covers with all his weight and George, unprepared for the fierceness of it, goes flying forward. He braces for impact and with a wince, smacks straight into Dream.

The bed bounces from the force of it and George’s cat bolts. Off the bed and out of the room - her sharp nails skittering across the floorboards. George ends up tangled between quilt, bed and Dream. As he falls, a perfectly timed elbow slams into Dream’s stomach. It’s well deserved. Dream collapses with a pained wheeze, George still pressed against his chest, “What the fuck George!” He manages through gasps of pain and laughter.

George sits up, grinning. “That was your fault, you idiot! If you hadn’t pulled on the quilt and just got up instead of acting like a baby, this would not have happened.”

“You’re dead, you’re so dead.” Dream wheezes - but makes no move apart from clutching at his stomach.

“Oh yeah, you look like you could deal massive damage to me right now.” George gives him a steady look. Dream manages an angled kick to George’s thigh, it does nothing more than jostle him, the other man clearly not actually attempting to hurt.

“Ooh, ouchie. That one stings.” George mocks.

“Jerk.” Dream mutters, a crooked smile growing on his face. He lets his head fall back onto the pillows yet again. Sighing deeply.

“I’ll elbow you again if you go back to sleep.” He pokes Dream in the side, Dream swats around at him with his eyes still closed, missing completely.

“Not sleeping, just thinking about how you’re going to make this up to me.”

“Me? This is all you!” George rolls his eyes.

Dream looks up at him and pouts, then begins a dramatic routine of fake sniffling and crying that has George stuck between rolling his eyes and laughing at the idiot.

"Fine - if you stop acting like a big baby I'll buy you lunch."

"Deal." Dream stops his act immediately, a shit-eating grin on his stupid face.

So fucking annoying. George huffs, his own face is warm.

They get around to getting ready eventually. Taking turns to use the shower and getting dressed. Dream takes forever to finish changing and so George sits with a growling stomach. Sapnap, still in dark mode, has vague-tweeted (the aim is clear) _‘these hoes ain’t loyal’_ , the replies to which are all along the same vein of ‘keep your head up king’ or people treating it way too seriously. He wonders if Nick has slept at all since they last texted. George shoots him a quick GO TO SLEEP just as Dream, dressed for the day, walks into the living room.

He’s in dark-wash straight-leg jeans, and a white t-shirt under a soft-looking beige checked jacket. And George would say something about American fashion and dressing up for just going walking around London if his brain was working properly. He’s still too tired from the late night to do that, however. George feels officially underdressed in his jumper with a t-shirt underneath by comparison. He finds his denim jacket (still in a heap next to his bed) and shoves it on over the top, in the hopes it makes him look like he put in a little bit of effort today.

Dream’s hand reaches out and pulls at his jacket collar. George slaps the hand away in reflex.

"Dude! I'm trying to fix your collar for you, it's all twisted." Dream laughs.

"I thought you were going to like.. hit me or something," George says awkwardly, he quickly fixes his collar himself, "But thanks I guess."

"You're so very welcome." Dream's giving him a funny look - clearly amused.

"Let's go, I'm starving." George moves past Dream to the door. Continuing to ignore the look as he pulls it open swiftly.

"Ladies first." He smirks at Dream.

Dream rolls his eyes and moves through the doorway and into the hall. George follows him out, locks the door and then lets Dream trail him down the stairwell. He's only on the first floor so it doesn't take them long to reach the street. Which is busy at midday, cars and taxi's flying past. They step onto the pathway and George immediately turns right, away from the direction of the station and towards food.

"Where are we going?" Dream says, they walk shoulder to shoulder, only moving apart if they have to walk single file to let people pass by.

"Spoons." George says back over his shoulder.

"What's The Spoons, does it have food?"

"Yeah, The Spoons has food." George starts laughing, Dream looks confused.

"What?" He's chuckling despite not knowing what's set George off.

"The Spoons." George starts cackling again.

"That's what you said! The Spoons."

"It's just Spoons, or Wetherspoons."

"Oh, c'mon! How is that funny to you? You're so lame, George." Dream scoffs.

"Americans." George laughs like that answers the question. Dream sighs, letting him get on with it.

They get to Spoons and shuffle into a booth together. It's quiet inside, save a few young people, most likely students, sat around eating. The bar staff stand cleaning glasses and chatting.

The interior is the same as every other Wetherspoons in the country - stuck between trying to look modern and old-fashioned. As though 'old lady's living room chic' was the phrase the interior designer was pitched when planning it. The table they sit at has got that residue of stickiness that remains even after being wiped over a hundred times. It reminds George of Uni and despite the fact he's never been a big fan of drinking he's spent a good few nights crowded around a Spoons table with his mates. Probably contributing to the stains on the dark wood surface.

George pulls the menu up on his phone and tells Dream to put in his order. Dream's so hungry he could eat a banquet hall worth of food. He says as much to George, who laughs crookedly and tells him to order whatever he likes. Dream ends up deciding on a burger and fries. George is buying after all and he doesn't want him to blow his bank account on food the first day they spend together.

That can wait until at least day two.

They decide how they're going to spend the rest of the day whilst stealing each other's chips and spilling ketchup all over the table -a mishap with a sauce packet exploding. Though you can't exactly call it a mishap when George purposefully slammed his hand down on the packet just to create chaos. Dream had wheezed out a "George!" as they hastily mopped up the mess splattered across the table with napkins, carefully avoiding the bar staff looking in their direction. George not contributing much to the cleanup - too distracted by Dream's reaction. His face alight with the size of his grin. An eyes-squinting, teeth bared sort of smile that took over Dream's full face. The chaos was well worth it for that.

"Can we go to the beach!"

"Don't you live in Florida? You guys are, like, all beach there." George says between a sip of the coke he'd ordered.

"Not really, there are no beaches in Orlando," Dream, ever the contrarian, disputes "so what anyway? Beaches are fun. I wanna see a London beach!"

George snorts. "London doesn't have beaches, we could go to Brighton someday though? They have a pier and shit."

Dream guffaws, "Brighton's not a proper beach, it's all rocky, isn't it? There's no sand."

"Dream, you're the one who wanted a beach in the first place. Why don't we just focus on something else to do today?"

"Okay like what?"

"I don't know." George shrugs and sips his coke. Eyeing Dream's own drink discreetly - he'd put salt in it while Dream was in the bathroom and is waiting for the inevitable reaction.

"You live here, how can you not know what to do."

"Don't know if you've noticed, but I don't exactly go out much." George surmises.

Dream snorts. "Fair."

"Oh! Can we do like an open-top bus tour? I've seen those before in movies!" Dream has this excited look on his face akin to that of an overly energetic puppy - George is only human, he can't say no to that face.

"Sure," George shrugs, "I'll see which line's the best for tourist stuff." He picks up his phone and pulls up Google, quickly searching where they need to go.

Dream takes a sip of his salt-coke cocktail.

The reaction is as dramatic as George anticipated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter song - english morning by kowloon
> 
> i know george doesn't like tea or coffee. but fuck it. i do and i'm the writer here so i am writing it into existence


	4. london boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pov switch ahead! thought i'd give a heads up incase it is confusing! i'm experimenting forgive me plz!
> 
> note: i don't live in london, so my organisation of space may be a little iffy at best. i'm going off of the memory of the approximate five times in my life that i've visited. this is fantasy london, in which everything is within reasonable distance :)

**A TOURISTS GUIDE TO LONDON!**   
_ By Dream (and George) _

_The guide below will ensure a great day trip out in London! Rest assured if you want a very POGGERS time, Dream (and George) know exactly what is required!_   
  


**STEP ONE:** Eat food before the trip begins! Everyone knows you'll have more energy for the day if you eat first. You won't get tired as quickly!

RISK WARNING: This step may include incidents with sauce packets and salt in soda from an idiot you call your best friend. This can be avoided, of course, if your best friend isn't George (aforementioned idiot).

 **STEP TWO:** Wash the taste of salt-flavoured coke out of your mouth by stealing George's drink. Ignore his pout, giving in is a sign of weakness.

 **STEP THREE:** And you're off! Start the trip by following Google Map directions to where the tour bus is! Spend most of the walk trying to trip George over whilst he's distracted by his phone - this is made simple by having longer legs than George as you can get in front of him easier. Long legs are highly recommended for this step to work!

"Dream!" George says - in that voice. You know the one. You've heard it way too many times over TeamSpeak and Discord. It's George's _'I'm Bri-ish and You're Annoying'_ voice. At least, that's what you call it in your head. You can't hide your grin behind the anonymity of a voice call anymore.

It's scary, being here, with him. Like you're free-falling or tightrope-walking or something as equally dangerous.

"Are we there yet?" You say in a voice that can be categorised as _'American Kid on Roadtrip.'_

George huffs as he glances up at you for a second then back at his phone. His brown eyes half-lidded and brows set. Clearly annoyed that you've been trying to trip him for the entire distance the two of you have walked so far. His lack of response is expected, but it just makes you want to provoke him more.

RISK WARNING: Provoking George more may lead to dangerous consequences, such as: not talking to you, playing you at your own game and vicious attack (this last one is very rare, usually reserved for trying to murder you in Minecraft).

"Almost, just around the corner." He says eventually with this breathy little huff. Thing is, you know he's not actually annoyed, you know George too well.

You grin at him on a busy London street. He rolls his eyes and smiles right back at you.

 **STEP THREE-POINT-FIVE:** Have a moment of introspection as you walk towards your destination.

London is big. Obviously.

You want to look at everything, stop at every interesting-looking building in sight. There aren't a lot of buildings like these in Florida. Old cut-stone that's hundreds of years old, hard limestone carved into delicate ornate shapes. 

There is history all around you. Spanning as far back as the Romans and even further back than that. Centuries-old buildings stand grandly next to entirely-glass skyscrapers that are so tall in the London fog you can barely see the top.

The trouble is there's so much you want to do, but now you're here you're overwhelmed by it all. You'll never see everything there is to offer in London. There just isn't enough time in the world.

You look at George. Unphased as per usual it seems. He grew up here, you suppose he's used to it.

It's unfair because he'll never know how much you're actually freaking out inside. How the entire nine-hour flight from Orlando International Airport to London Gatwick your stomach was in knots, unable to stop yourself from overthinking.

Until yesterday George hadn't even seen your face. You feel like it should be a bigger deal than it was. Though you don't know quite what you mean by that. Or what you even expected from George when he first saw you.

The problem is that you came here with no reason, just trigger-happy impulse.

You only know that your trip was decided three days ago whilst on call with him. As George messed around with code for a plugin he was planning on making and you messed about on the test server helping him find bugs. Sapnap long ago had clocked out to go to bed.

It happened then, an unassuming TeamSpeak call, similar to countless others you've had with him over the years.

You remember that your room was a few degrees too warm, the air around you hot and sticky but you were too comfortable in your chair to move away. George's camera was on still from a moment earlier in the night when he'd shown you his cat curled up in his lap. He'd forgotten to turn it back off, but you weren't complaining.

The pair of you were tired and giggly. Talking absolute nonsense because it was six am George's time and one am yours.

George, despite your relentless bullying, is a good coder. Better than you realistically, though you'd never admit that. But not at six am when the London sun was rising behind him and he hadn't moved from his chair in at least five hours. You both really need to fix your sleep schedules.

You'd been tracking a beam of light behind him as it travelled across his floor, it was currently making its way along the unmade sheets of George's bed.

"Dreaaam." He'd sighed-slash-groaned in tiredness. His head tipped back, exposing the long line of his throat. The collar of his jumper bunching up as he sunk further into his exhaustion. His eyes betrayed his tiredness, half-shut and fluttering sleepily like he had to remind himself to keep them open.

"Geooorge." You'd said in return, mimicking his tone.

"I'm tired."

"Go sleep then." You'd snorted, closing out of Minecraft and turning your full attention to him, his camera full screen on one of your monitors.

"Need to finish."

"Finish after you've slept, idiot. The code isn't going to run away whilst you're sleeping."

"Might. Might get so sick of me being bad it leaves me." He had pouted. George is always a whiny child when he's tired. George is both of these things a lot.

"The code could never leave you, George. It loves you too much." You had cooed at him, your tone meant to be mocking - but in your own tiredness, it had come across as sincere.

"Oh yeah?" His head had rolled, turning towards his computer where he could probably see your Discord icon. You had wondered what George thought of when he tried to picture you. Anything close to the truth? Did he even try to imagine you at all?

"Yeah." You had whispered back, too aware of who you were looking at, the slump of his tired frame, the shadows cutting across his face.

You remember how George went silent, you couldn't even hear the clicks of his keyboard. And for a moment you thought he'd fell asleep right at his desk, in the middle of nonsensical conversation. His eyes were closed and in the dimly-lit quality of the webcam his eyelashes were dark lines against his cheeks.

"Wish you were here to cuddle right now." He'd murmured, close to the mic, quiet. He lay against his desk with the mic shoved close to his face so he could talk without having to sit upright. You could barely see him from this angle, just his head and the length of his narrow shoulders.

God, what the hell were you supposed to do but not want that. You had wished you were there too. Though doubtful that George was very cuddly in reality, you would gladly have had your theory disproven. It's strange isn't it? You'd been best friends with George for how many years now? And you still didn't know what he'd feel like in your arms, what he'd look like not through a screen but right in front of your own green eyes.

"George?" You said softly, words catching in your throat. You hadn't drunk water for a good few hours at this point. The woozy feeling of dehydration and exhaustion taking hold of your voice.

"Mhm?" He had hummed and you could tell the tiredness had overtaken him now, so much that he was barely even comprehending words. He shifted and his face came back into view, hair messed up from where he'd leant against his arms.

You had wondered if that's what George looks like in the mornings. Hair sleep-crushed, expression soft and weightless. You wondered what that hair would feel like under your fingers. If you could coax him into an easy smile.

"Go to sleep." You whispered, mouth close to your own mic. Loud enough you knew he'd hear it clearly but tender still.

"Sleep." He had repeated, like a baby repeating the words they hear without actually understanding any meaning.

"Go to sleep George." You'd said again, with distinct finality.

He began to move in front of you, you heard the squeak of his chair and some shuffling noise. You watched him readjust his sitting position. A pale bare leg came into view - bony knee curled up in front of him. His feet probably resting on the edge of his desk to keep him balanced. You think that maybe the entire span of your hand could fit perfectly against that knee - you still don't know what to do with the information. Nor know why your sleep-addled brain conjured up the thought.

His head was tilted back and sideways, resting against his chair. 

"Gonna read me a bedtime story? Tuck me in and kiss me goodnight?" His words were slurred and muffled from his new distance from his mic, clearly meant to be teasing. George is stubborn when he wants to be, but you're more stubborn than him.

"If you want me too." You found yourself saying. Something warm and whole turned over in your stomach.

You needed to get up and readjust the air conditioning, you needed to convince George to go to sleep.

He'd said something in a grumbling, impossible-to-decipher tone in reply to you. You saw his mouth move though you couldn't comprehend his words. Probably still managing to be snarky, despite his tiredness.

You thought about it more. Seeing him. In the flesh, being able to drag him to bed when he stays up too late and... You'd entertained the thought so many times over the years, but now there is a solid weight to your urge. _If you don't do this now maybe you never will._ You blame it on the sleep-deprivation.

You think you've dreamed doing it when you wake up the next morning.

But no, it's real, you check your phone and the flight confirmation email appears in your notifications.

_You're going to London._

You want to look at everything in London.

But that's not the reason you're here.

He shoots you a look as you walk, one that's half-question half-reassurance. You shrug at him, let an easy smile tug at your own mouth though there is something in your chest that is hurting.

Yeah, it's all just too much.

 **STEP ???:** You've gotten distracted somewhere here. Lost sight of the purpose of this guide...

Oh! That's right, this is about London!

Which step are you even on right now?

Whatever, it doesn't matter, let's just keep going.

Sight-see! Duh. That's the whole point of this very informative tour guide after-all!

London has these red double-decker buses, called Hop-On Hop-Off buses, named so for obvious reasons.

For best London-viewing experience this guide recommends that you sit at the top of the bus, right at the front and watch the city pass all around you.

Learn more about the wonderful city you're in by pointing at random shit and asking your handy tour guide what it is that you're looking at. — He doesn't know, by the way, he never does. George is a useless tour guide. You tell him this and he gives you a look like he wants to hit you. Like he probably would if you were in Minecraft. 

Unfortunately, this is real life and punching people isn't exactly acceptable social behaviour. The two of you haven't quite figured out how to act around each other yet, though conversation flows as easily as it usually does. Now there is the added element of him seeing you. Of being able to touch each other. It's not awkward. Just... new.

Take photos of things you think your mom might like - since she did ask for some.

And also because you don't want to forget any of this.

Take pictures of George, captured mid-laughter, his eyes crinkled shut and his grin so wide and so bright it hurts to look at. It's too much of a good thing to handle. Go back to capturing a picture of the pigeon that's perched on the row of seats behind you.

Laugh so hard you sound like a kettle and stop breathing for a worrying second when the pigeon flaps into the air and lands on George. It makes him scream like a girl - scream like how he does when he gets killed in-game. Only this time he doesn't blow out your headphone speakers and burst your eardrums.

Laugh long after at the pictures you managed to take of his panicked flailing limbs as he tried to make the pigeon get off. Mid-flail, eyes-wide in shock. Your lungs hurt so hard when you're done and George is giving you this look like he's trying to be stern but his eyes are soft around the edges and he's smiling despite himself.

You post the pictures of him mid-flail on Twitter, it's payback for the salt-coke thing. Karma and all that.  
  


_ THE BEST PLACES TO GO IN LONDON ACCORDING TO DREAM  _   
_— (coincidently also the only places he's ever been)_

**THE TOWER OF LONDON** is (according to Google) a 900-year-old castle and fortress in central London that is notable for housing the crown jewels and for holding many famous and infamous prisoners. Basically, a bunch a bricks 'nd shit that looks pretty cool and is old as fuck. It's alright, but you're more excited by the Bubble Tea place nearby that you spotted when George and you got off the bus.

You observe the Tower of London from a distance, it saves paying the cost of admission to get in. 

George reads off 'Tower of London Fun Facts!' and you try bubble tea for the first time in your life.

 **DID YOU KNOW** \- That at least six ravens are kept at the Tower at all time. For superstitious reasons — _I'm not lying! that's what it says here Dream, why would I lie about something as stupid as that? Read it for yourself then!_

You're hesitant about your drink at first. Unsure of the milk and brown sugar drink, tapioca pearls sitting at the bottom of the recyclable cup. You squint at it in suspicion, green eyes narrowing.

George manages to convince you into a careful sip.

"Oh!" You say in glad surprise. You blink at the cup then at George. He's giving you an 'I told you so' eyebrow raise because he's spent the better half of five minutes telling you that it's good. It's not your fault that you're _still_ not over the salt-coke thing. That was not an easy taste to forget.

"Good?" A smile tugs at his lips, your happiness is clearly infectious.

"Yeah! Really good! What did you get again?" You say, squinting at George's bright-yellow coloured drink.

"Mango."

"Is it good?"

"Try it!" George offers the cup to you. You lean forward, sipping straight from it, still in George's hand instead of taking it from him. Your warm palm resting on top of his cold one for a moment to guide the cup to your mouth. You pull away, unsure of what you think of the taste.

George clears his throat, "What do you think?" He's gone a little red from the cold - maybe the two of you should've gone for hot drinks instead of cold ones.

"I don't know.. I think I need another try."   
  
  


**ST PAUL'S CATHEDRAL** has a 257 step climb that leads you up within the great dome, where you'll find perhaps the best accidental man-made tourist attraction in London. You listen in to a passing tour guide explain it. Due to the specific design of the cathedral's dome - sound carries across what is known as the Whispering Gallery. You can say something here and be heard by someone on the opposite side of the dome.

You imagine how many people have stood here just like you, how many sweet nothings, carefully worded secrets, how many _can you hear me?'s_ have passed along the curving wall.

The tour group moves on, you and George stand side by side.

"Wanna try it?" You say. He grins and you walk away from one another until you both stand parallel.

Below you there are voices that echo and bounce. The painted mosaic above your head is stunning, but your focus is on George. Taking a step back, you stand with the back of your legs flush against the bench, closer to the wall of the dome than the rail that looks down at the grand cathedral floor below.

"Hey, George." You try, voice low.

You hear his pitchy laugh of surprise.

"I can hear you!" He says back. It's strange how the sound feels when it reaches your ears. Like an echo. Like words you aren't supposed to hear. You think of whispered secrets, you don't say any of yours.

"Dream, want to know a secret?" George's voice wraps around to you, it feels like he fills the entire space. You wonder if this place can whisper your thoughts too.

The power of a whisper is that it can make you stop in your tracks. More than a shout or scream or yell. You have to force yourself still so that you can listen.

"Yes."

You're not expecting him to say anything serious.

But still, a flame akin to hope ignites in your chest. What it is you're hoping for is still yet to be revealed. You cling to the flame nonetheless.

"Are you sure?" There's something tinny and unreal about his voice, if you couldn't see George stood across the dome from you, you may find yourself believing in ghosts.

The matchstick flame is burnt down to your fingertips now, an almost-burn, not quite blistering your skin.

"George." You set your gaze on him, he's looking right back at you, you can just make out the smile on his face.

"Just making sure.. okay, here goes..." He takes a deliberating, deep breath.

You sigh, you hope he hears it. George is an absolute idiot. His silence draws out for way too long.

You wait, watch him bring his hands to his mouth and... blow the biggest raspberry you've ever heard in your entire life. It bounces around the dome like a ricocheting bullet. You didn't need a whispering gallery to hear that.

Immediately you crack up, hunched over and gasping. Something light like relief filling you up.

"W-was that it?" You get out between uneven breaths.

"I couldn't think of anything to say!" He cackles.

"I hate you," You say, it's not even half the truth, you hope he understands your meaning.

"Love you too Dream." He whispers back.

No pleading, no dono's tricking him. He says it all on his own.

"Let's get out of here." You swallow the lump in your throat because you're not sure you can handle the Whispering Gallery any longer.

On your way out of the dome, you spot a yellow-coloured post-it note stuck on the wall. It stops you in your tracks. In some strangers' hasty scrawl there are words that make your chest tight and palms warm.

_the whispering_   
_tells me there's a wanting_

_the whispering_   
_is soft and sincere_

You take the note, fold it up and slide it into your pocket. For safekeeping.  
  
  


 **THE LONDON EYE** is one of the cities most popular attractions.  
It's also the spot that Sapnap decides to make his presence known.

The door has barely sealed you into the glass-pod before your phone is lit up and vibrating, Sapnap's contact name popping up when you check it.

You answer the call.

" _FACETIME ME NOW!_ " He yells.

"Dude, we're in public."

"Put headphones in then! I wanna be apart of this vacation since no one bothered to invite Me!"

"George? You have headphones on you?" You aside to him, momentarily ignoring his confused look. You've left your headphones at George's flat, tucked into the pocket of your backpack.

George pulls his wallet from his pocket and digs around until he finds a wired cable and hands it to you.

"Show me London, show me London!" Nick repeats, voice loud against your ear.   
"Give me a second nimrod, I'll call you back." You say then hang up on him.

Mindful of the people in the pod around you, you stand near the glass and beckon George over.

"Sapnap wants to see London."

"Why?" George wrinkles his nose.

You shrug back, plug the headphones into your phone and offer him one of the buds. George takes it, stepping close to your side to put it in his ear. You put yours in then answer the FaceTime call prompt that Sapnap's already spamming you with.

"About time!"

"Huh?" You squint at him.

"You took forever to answer!"

George leans over so his face is in front of the camera, it's hard to get you both in, you move. Rearranging yourself so your shoulder is behind him and his side is pressed against your chest. 

"Hello," He greets Sapnap. You jump a little when some of his brown hair brushes against the bottom of your chin. It smells fresh, the same as the floral-scented shampoo you borrowed from him this morning.

"Georgie!" Sapnap yells, you hastily press the buttons on the side of your phone to lower the volume of him, "I can't believe you invited Dream to London and not me!"

"Trust me, he invited himself. I had no input in any of this."

Your face drops a little. you know George is joking, but you never did give it any thought to check that he was okay with this.

"Dream! Next time you invite yourself to London you have to invite me too! That's best friend rules."

"Sorry dude. Next time!"

"It's fine.. I've had to kick you both out of the Dream Team, of course, but you guys understand, right?"

"What?"

"Yeah, it's called the Sapnap Team now. I've been taking in applications on Twitter. Karl seemed pretty happy about it." He says nonchalantly.

You guffaw. "Sapnap Team sounds terrible!"

"Hey! I'm working with what I've got here."

"Well, it's shit," George adds, turning his face to you to gauge your agreement. You barely manage a nod in reply.

"Whatever... I didn't come here for your opinion on MY better team. I wanna see London!"

"Sure."

You flip the camera, doing a pan of the view from The Eye, George sways by your side to keep the earbud in his ear as Sapnap 'oohs' and 'aahs' dramatically. You end the scan of your surroundings by panning to George and shoving the camera in his face.

"Ew, George close up. Get him away! He's ruining the view!"

You turn the camera back to your own face, mock outrage taking over your expression. "So rude Sapnap! George is beautiful! I'm supposed to be showing you all the sights of London and he is definitely the main attraction." You shoot George a wink.

"Ugh. You're so annoying." George says in typical response, rolling his eyes.

Sapnap's laughter fills your ears.

"I have to go, enjoy your date though! And post more pictures or else! Though not of George, obviously."

"Of course, those one's I'll just keep for myself." You say, not daring enough to glance at George.

Sapnap hangs up by screaming bye loud enough to leave a ringing in your ears.

Silence hangs heavy. The wheel continues turning. You haven't paid nearly enough attention to the skyline as you intended.

"Hey, I uh- before I forget," You begin, "I never really thought about how you might be busy when I booked my flight, or that you might not be ready to meet me. So I'm sorry if I've come at a bad time or anything. If you weren't ready.."

"Dream, chill out. I'm not arsed. I want you here."

" _Not arsed_." You repeat because joking is easy. Joking doesn't make your heart race or your stomach churn with emotion.

He shoves your shoulder, the earbud pops out of your ear as you stumble back a step, grinning.  
  
  


 **THE SHARD** is currently the tallest building in the United Kingdom. At a height of 310 metres (1,020 ft).

Like a shard of glass, it cuts through the heart of London, rising above all it surrounds.

It's a dumb name for a building, but from the top you can see the whole of London. The winding Thames, Tower Bridge, Big Ben. Right across the river is where you started the day, the Tower of London.

You know you must have a dumbstruck look on your face as you stare at it all. You've already seen the view from the London Eye. But you're even higher now, you can see even further. You turn to George to share the wonder, he's already looking at you.

"Wow." You say to him, a little breathless.

"Yeah" He replies, as equally breathless.

George looks away first. The sun isn't quite setting yet, but it's low in the sky and not as bright as before. Light still shines - illuminating him and you. You wonder what his searching eyes are looking for beyond the glass to London below.

You lean against the railings next to him, shoulder to shoulder. You want so badly to know what he's thinking-

"I don't think I'm used to you yet," George says. It's not quite a secret, not like the one's you're keeping wrapped close. But it is a confession.

"How so?" You reply.

He shrugs, embarrassed that he's said it.  
You want to say so much. But you don't either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter song - london boy by taylor swift
> 
> i have this old book on gothic architecture that belonged to an architecture professor who passed away. my uncle had piles and piles of his books in his garage for whatever reason. there was enough to fill an entire library, just books towering everywhere, shelf-less. anyways, to the point, i've always been fascinated by old stone. the minster near where i live is currently in the process of getting many of the old limestone features replaced - they've been eroded by weather and time and a fire, unfortunately. i think about how much work it takes to carve each stone, to cut away with hammer and chisel. the dedication and patience to not strike down that hammer just a slight too harsh and ruin days, weeks, months worth of work.
> 
> did you know that in early norman period work the chisel was very rarely used, instead ornaments were often worked with an axe. imagine the precision necessary to make each mark, the strength and patience to ensure you don't end up with just dust and ruin.
> 
> why do we continue to rework old stone? even though we know that time will only continue to ruin our efforts.
> 
> for ourselves i suppose so that we can continue to marvel at something someone many years ago thought to achieve, to continue to admire the craftsmanship and beauty of the long-dead past.
> 
> the point is i got way too caught up in thinking about gothic architecture to then only spend about three seconds mentioning it in this chapter. i have too many thoughts and nowhere to put them. therefore i am info-dumping on anyone who reads this. many apologies.


	5. keep you warm

It's weird. Because his brain won't stop shouting at him. There's this little voice in his head yelling: ' _That's Dream! Look it's Dream! That's Dream's face you're staring at right now!'_

And it's like George's brain refuses to process it, instead of the expected growing calmer in Dream's presence, he feels himself growing towards something that he can't make sense of.

He's not used to Dream yet. Though he cannot begin to express his thoughts. There is something here. There is something here sitting in his ribcage.

It grows with every new second, every fresh glance, every spot on their grand-old tour of London.

Outside of the Tower of London Dream tries bubble tea, and he shares something new with George. A new experience, a new expression as he takes his first sip - surprise and delight in the widening of his eyes; that bright-eyed wonder of a kid in a candy store.

 _I'm not used to this,_ George thinks, his brain is in pieces, trying to put together the voice he's known for so many years and establish it as having form and shape and substance.

Dream is someone who gestures wildly with their hands as they talk - as though the simple exaggeration of his voice when he tells a story is not enough. There's a startling realisation that these motions must have been there before George ever even saw Dream. That they're just a part of him.

There's a realisation that Dream has always had substance - George has just never been able to grasp onto any solid matter until now. The mysterious vapour of Dream's form fills out and solidifies in front of him.

It was weird enough before he'd seen Dream, when the only way George could remind himself that his best friend was a living person was the way he sounded when he moved away from his mic to stretch or laugh or grab a water from the other side of the room. And George was forced to reckon with the idea that there was a place, a house, a room in which Dream existed. That somewhere in the world he was filling up space, breathing air and living.

Or those rare phone calls, talking shit, talking nothing, falling asleep on the line together, where he could hear Dream's inhales and exhales, close and sharp in his ear. As close as George thought he would ever get.

In the here and now, there's a visual face. And in all the times that George has imagined Dream in front of him, attached a strangers face to Dream's voice, nothing can compare to the real thing.  
  
Nothing compares to the way Dream taps his foot when they're on the bus - clearly desperate to get off and dive into London on foot. The way he snaps his fingers when he remembers a forgotten fact or thinks of something important, the way he winces to himself mid-thought - in memory of some embarrassing moment or thing that he has just said. The way that even when Dream's not speaking his face can convey a whole journey through the twitch of a brow or quirk of his lip.

Dream feels sort of like a sensory overload in that way - George is constantly trying to calm himself. To not look too close to the sun and all that. Because he knows staring directly at it will blind him. He has to confine himself to the warm-golden rays that surround this bright-hot ball of energy-personified. It's okay here, he can bathe in the sunlight for as long as he likes, for as long as it keeps him warm.  
  
  


In St Pauls Cathedral there is much space for secrets. They fill the hollow dome and echo off of walls. George can almost hear them, the whispered words of all those who stood here before him. He wonders if he should give them another. If the Whispering Gallery has heard all of the secrets of the world or if there are still a few new ones out there, waiting to be spoken into existence.

George doesn't think he has anything new to add. He says nothing, the walls hear his silence anyway. Sometimes the words we do not speak are louder than those we do.

George looks up, at the painted dome, it took nineteen years for these scenes of saints to be finished. A labour of love. A great, laborious undertaking by someone dedicated enough to stick with it to completion. What a daunting task that must have been. To start something and not know how long it may take, where it will lead. All-consuming desire and the struggle, the passion to keep going.

It's certainly a wonder. George lets his gaze linger on the painted dome.

He wonders what Dream knows of journeys and beginnings and all-consuming things.

Before this, all George had ever seen of Dream was photos as a kid. Usually provided by an all-too-eager Sapnap wanting to embarrass his friend.

It's hard to connect the Dream then and the Dream now. His hair and his eyebrows are different for one, no longer the bright blond George had been expecting. But darker, especially closer to the roots. The ends, where it softly curls, catches the light and is probably the closest reminder to the bright blond of childhood. George didn't realise how unready he was to meet Dream until the time actually came to it.

How much deliberation did it take to plan out the biblical scenes of St Paul's? How much time was taken between the initial sketches and those first brushes of paint?

Four years of knowing someone is barely anything really.

He thought he'd be eased into this, first a photo, maybe then a video call, then possibly, meeting in person. The deep end is fine though. George is a pretty great swimmer.

Dream stands across the other side of the dome. He's waiting for a secret.

George has to squeeze his hands tight, force himself back into his body. There are a million things he could say, should say. Wants Dream to know how thankful he is that they met on MunchyMC all those years ago.

He's treading water steadily. The only thing that could possibly send him into the plunging depths is a whirlpool or a riptide. And those types of things are one-in-a-million, right?

A million things to say and George says none. It's impossible he thinks, to narrow it all down and decide what comes first.

In truth, he knows he doesn't have to say anything and Dream has no expectations of him to whisper anything serious. So George doesn't.

— And then Dream does his stupid, cackling laugh and George is learning that he loves it more and more every time he gets to actually see Dream do it. He wants to find every excuse he can, make dumber and dumber jokes. Just because he gets to see Dream in full motion. The way he sways, head falling back, eyes squinted shut. The choking expanse of his chest and the hand that comes up to grab it like he needs to hold onto himself.

"I hate you," Dream gasps out - George knows what Dream really means and it makes soft warmth grow in the pit of his stomach.

"Love you too." George whispers back. And this, George thinks, cannot be a secret.

Because George hopes Dream knows how much he does love him. He may not always say as much, but it's undoubtedly true. Love isn't always expressed through words, George thinks most of the time he gets the message across fine. Dream's been his best friend for years of course he knows how much George loves him.

Through the times he stays up skimming through Dream's code to fix bugs. The hours they spend talking on call with Sapnap, Karl and Quackity, or just the two of them. On stream and offline and without a doubt every day.   
  
Through the songs they recommend each other, the silence sometimes: too tired to talk but not wanting to hang up quite yet. Comfortable in their own quiet. The messages they send - four different conversations being held at once over TeamSpeak, Twitter, Discord and text message. Sometimes one chain can go silent for days, until they pick up where they left off. Continuing at the same point or starting afresh on some topic completely new. It's the food they order each other when they know the other hasn't eaten in twelve hours - too distracted by streaming, editing, recording or talking to friends. The way even when they're with family they sit in each other's back pocket - a message waiting comfortably for a reply.

There's no expectations and that's what George loves about it.

That's why he doesn't know quite what to do now the distance is no longer there. He doesn't have to await a reply or call. Every interaction demands instantaneous reaction and George hasn't finished his analysis of what he's supposed to be doing.

"Let's get out of here." Dream says, voice cracking as he speaks.

There are things George wants to say without having to confess anything. Or, what he means is to confess without having to say anything.

The whispering gallery demands nothing of him, yet he has left something in it. He hopes it leads him closer to understanding.   
  
  


George has been on the London Eye a handful of times in his life, with his family when he was young, on school trips, once on a date with a girl where he didn't know what to do with hands and he'd had an awful haircut the day before that made him feel insecure and twitchy.

It's different now, he's already seen the view. London, big and old and new and ever-changing. The sky is consistent, as always, cloudy sunlight spilling between thick-white clouds. Grey and bright and on the perpetual verge of rain. There is a growing darkness building, nothing to worry much about yet.

The wheel of the Eye turns slowly, it takes about thirty minutes for a full rotation to be completed. And after Sapnap's finished annoying them, there are still twenty minutes of the cycle left.

George doesn't know what he's supposed to do when Dream stays flush against his back. Nor when Dream's hands move around his waist, enclosing him in a hug. Like they're some gross couple engaging in what George deems unnecessary public displays of affection. Though it's probably just that George isn't much of a hugger - he's never been overly affectionate, especially in public. He's much too awkward in his self for that - never quite sure what the right gesture is. If a hug is too much or a handshake is too formal.

It makes him feel itchy at the edges just thinking about it. But Dream seems intent to just take the lead - which is also confusing and makes George feel even more twitchy. He's never expecting it when Dream reaches out. Constantly finding himself caught off guard.

George doesn't shove him off though. Just lets Dream's chin come down and rest against his shoulder, breath hot and tickly against George's cheek and ear.

"What are you doing?" George asks because this is uncharted territory. This is so close to the thing that sits in his ribcage that it hurts.

Dream sighs. Another exhale of warm air close to George's skin.

"Is it weird to say that I've missed you?"

"How can you have missed me," George manages to laugh, "This is the first time we've met."

"Don't know, feels like I've been missing you is all. Just glad I'm finally here." He says it into George's ear, voice nothing more than a low whisper. 

"Oh," George says because he's stumped.

Dream breathes in, deep and slow, his nose nudges at the side of George's neck. When he exhales George can feel it all the way down his spine.

Heat rises up George's neck and he feels that awkward warm itchiness again. He feels embarrassed - though the word doesn't quite fit. He's caught off guard and that's the closest to the truth he dares get.

George is frozen, unsure of how to proceed - how he's meant to hold himself when someone's hugging him like this. He gets stuck looking for a diversion for his attention and is sufficiently distracted by the tan of Dream's arm - or lack thereof. Because for someone who lives in Florida Dream doesn't have much of one.

George is constantly realising things when it comes to Dream, on the verge of discovery every moment. Like since the second he first saw Dream's face for the first time at the airport his knowledge has grown exponentially. Every glance he's learning anew. Or maybe relearning what he knows.

It's— actually, it feels like a train of thought George does not in fact want to explore too deeply right now. He has to look up from this particular page, focus on the London skyline, not the countless discoveries about Dream he is yet to make.

Eventually, the London Eye completes its cycle and Dream lets go.  
  
  


They stand at the top of The Shard. A view of the city. Everything in front of them, around them.

George gets distracted once again by the way the sun touches Dream's skin. Pulled back into where his train of thought had died on the London Eye.

Where George is pale all over, Dream has colour across the tops of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose and though he's not particularly freckly, the moles and freckles scattered across his face have been darkened by the sun.

He looks American. Which, duh, he is American.

It makes sense in George's head at least.

It has to do with the set of his jaw and arch of his brow. The classic All-American boy.

"George?" Dream's voice brings him out of his thoughts. A knowing smile on his face - though what he knows escapes George. George has a paranoid existential moment where he thinks Dream might be able to hear his thoughts. 'I _f you hear this, you smell,'_ he thinks. Like a sensible, mature adult. Dream doesn't show any sign of acknowledgement. Safe for now, George supposes.

"Huh?" George replies, eloquently.

"Where to next?" Dream waits patiently for George to reply.

"Erm, I dunno. You hungry?"

"I could eat." Dream shrugs, easy as always.   
  
  


To dramatise the events that follow, George begins as such: They step one foot out of The Shard and it starts absolutely pissing down. Rain that bounces off the pavement, rain like sheets. They're soaked in seconds and it's actually the worst, it's unfair. The two of them in an instant must look like drowned rats.

They leg it to a nearby bus shelter - exposed on one side but shielded above their heads. Huddled close like a penguin does to conserve heat.

They're joined by a man in a suit and long overcoat who is huffing and sighing at the rain like his disgruntlement alone will stop it. As though the weather has turned awful just to piss him off in particular and make him wet for Very Important Business. He scowls at the opposite side of the shelter, turning his shoulder against George and Dream and staring angrily at his phone.

Dream's in hysterics, water collecting at his jaw, droplets clinging to his eyelashes and the tip of his nose. He tilts his head back in laughter and George watches how when his eyes squint shut the dewy wetness rolls down his cheeks like fresh tears.

"It's raining!" He's excited like a puppy, grinning stupidly. It's all so very unfair.

George has to actively force himself to make some sort of snarky comment in reply. 'Cos his brains stopped working effectively - waterlogged probably.

"No? Is it really Dream? It never rains in London, I never would have guessed."

"I like rain, sue me asswipe." Dream snarks back.

"It rains in Florida all the time, it's like the exact same thing." George shrugs.

"In monsoon season. It's different. Soooo different, this is London rain!" He's annoyingly chipper for someone with hair plastered to their head and soaked like they've been dunked in the ocean.

"Same thing," George repeats - teeth chattering with cold.

"George, have you experienced Florida rain before?"

"Well no." George rolls his eyes because Dream's taken on that tone of voice and he knows where this is headed. Dream's too stubborn. He'll keep on running with his point until George concedes.

"Exactly," Dream cuts him off. "I'm the cultured one here and as someone with experience of both, I'm telling you. It's different."

"Cultured? Don't make me laugh Dream."

"I've been more places than you, that makes me more cultured!" Dream insists. Even if deep down Dream knows what he's saying isn't true or wrong, he will not give in.

He talks like his point is valid when the furthest Dream's ever been from Orlando is probably Miami - until coming to London. George might not have been outside of London in his life before, but come on now.

"You're so.." George sighs, he can't believe he calls this idiot his best friend. It's unbelievable actually. Where's Sapnap when you need him?

"Handsome? Amazing? Better at Minecraft than you? The best friend you could ask for?"

"Annoying." George scoffs with exasperated finality.

"Those other things too though, right?"

"Oh-kay," George mocks, then adds a: "you wish" with a final snort of laughter for good measure.

London rain is heavy and icy cold. It can last for hours, days even sometimes before there is a break. From the look of the growing dark clouds in the sky, George has a feeling it's going to be a long while until it stops. They can't spend all day and night in a bus shelter. That's just asking to get mugged.

The guy in the suit seems to concur, he gives an almighty sigh, then turns up his collar and begins speedwalking away as swift as his legs can carry him.

"I think we should make a run for it." Dream voices what George has been thinking.

They've been huddled here for too long, George is freezing and from the way that Dream's got his arms wrapped around himself - he is too.

"Or we could get an Uber or taxi and not get absolutely soaked." They're already pretty wet - but the rain hasn't quite seeped through George's jacket or hoodie yet. His skin is still dry beneath and he certainly isn't trying to make it happen on purpose any more than he has to.

"George." Dream says in that slightly patronising _'oh come on now'_ way he has.

"What," George says flatly.

"Come on." There it is. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

"Oh, sorry I don't want to have hypothermia by the time we get back." George rolls his eyes.

"Don't be a baby. We're been soaked already and it's not like the Antarctic."

George huffs. "No, that's just stupid, it'll take us forever."

"George, I've been in London for less than twenty-four hours and even I know it's not that far, it'll take us, what? Ten, fifteen minutes?"

"I'm getting an Uber. You can run around all you like Dream. Knock yourself out." George pulls his phone from his pocket.

"Stop being such a little baby! It's rain, look!"

Dream steps out from under the bus shelter, into the open street, rain immediately pours over him. But he's grinning madly despite the state of his sodden clothes and the way his hair is now definitely getting into his eyes.

Unpredictably and inexplicably (though George should have really expected this one) Dream grabs George by the elbow and pulls him out into the pouring rain.

"Dream! What the hell! What was the point in that?" George tries to escape but Dream keeps hold of him, using his other hand to grab George's jacket so he's made to stand in front of him and turn them so Dream is body-blocking the bus shelter. He looms over George a little, using his height to his obnoxious advantage.

"You know I don't think any Uber driver would let us in their car if we're dripping all over the seats." He grins, white teeth bared in full evil enjoyment of the fact that he's won this one. George vows that he will win next time, someone has to reign Dream's ego in.

George groans pathetically.

"You're—" He sighs, doesn't finish his thought. Dream already knows all of the names and insults he could call him.

"Fine. Let's just go. But just remember this was your stupid idea." Which implies, if I get hypothermia and die, it's on you.

"Won't forget it." Dream winks cockily.

With a quick readying glance at one another, the two of them begin their mad dash home. George leading the way as they race past equally as harried-looking pedestrians, their feet slapping against the freshly formed puddles.

There's no need to run, they're soaked in seconds anyway, but it feels like a race. It sends adrenalin pumping through them and makes it more fun, even when they have to stop at traffic lights for the green man to let them cross. They dodge around Londoners and tourists like it's a game. Laughing until they're dumb with it.

The sky is darkening quickly now that the rain seems to be here to stay and the wet ground is beginning to reflect the glow of the streetlights, George's watches their shadows flicker past as they race to keep up with each other.

He's surprised when he feels a tug on his arm and turns his head to find Dream gripping the cuff of his coat. With a quick glance back at Dream's wild wolfish grin, George offers his hand properly. Their cold, wet fingers gripping one another as they run together.

They get back to George's flat still clinging tiredly. Dream's hair is a dark tawny-brown from the water, fringe stuck limply to his forehead. George knows he must look exactly the same. Hand in hand, they stumble their way up the set of stairs to George's flat and spend way too long trying to get the key into the keyhole with their slippery fingers.

George struggles for a good minute with the key - the cold and the adrenalin has made him shaky.

"Are you good?" Dream chuckles, still breathless from their run.

"No, I can't get the stupid key in!" George whines.

"Here idiot," Dream wraps his hand around George's cold-numb digits, together they manage to get it in the keyhole. "It isn't rocket science."

"Oooh I'm Dweam, I have a million IQ, blah blah, it isn't rocket science." George quickly turns his embarrassment at not being able to complete a simple task into an excuse to annoy Dream.

"George! I was being kind! Would it kill you to say thank you?"

"Well, _Thank You Dream_ for forcing me to run home in the rain, thanks to you I'm so cold I probably have frostbite." George crosses his arms and tucks his freezing hands against his sides, hoping to retain some body heat.

"So dramatic." Dream mutters, though it's loud enough that George is clearly meant to hear it.

They're still in the doorway, door handle in Dream's hand. Waiting for the other to speak, so that they can continue their pointless wisecracks at the other's expense. George decides to be the bigger person and all that and slip past Dream, into his flat.

They're on the same wavelength when both remove their shoes quickly, then their squelching socks. With their jackets following next, shoved onto the radiator near George's TV stand.

George's cat takes one look at them, dripping onto the floorboards and turns on her haunches, meowing softly as if to say, come find me when you don't look like you've just gone for a swim fully clothed.

George directs Dream to his bedroom whilst he goes to the bathroom and grabs them a couple towels to dry themselves off with. They can have proper showers tomorrow morning, George doesn't want to be wet for any longer tonight. Plus, he's starving and putting off eating for any longer than necessary sounds awful.

He dares a glance in his bathroom mirror. It's what he expected. He simultaneously looks pale and red-faced, there's colour reddening the tip of his nose and his ears, but the cold has made him look a little ill. Quickly looking away, he takes the towels back to his room to share with Dream.

George's door creaks a little as he pushed it open. Dream's shirtless by his bedside, leant over his suitcase to grab a fresh change of clothes. George blinks. Dream's back muscles shift as he picks a t-shirt up, then disappear quickly from view as he turns to face George.

"Oh, thanks" Dream smiles.

George sways in the doorway.

"For the towel, George?"

"Oh! Yeah, sure." George quickly hands him the fluffy pale-grey towel, though he's been told they're actually a nice shade of blue. At least that's what his mum said upon buying them for him when he moved out.

George retreats to the opposite corner of the room to get changed, pulling open a set of drawers and looking for a set of comfortable pyjama pants and a jumper. They may not particularly match but George is too cold and tired to care.

Turned away, George is quick to shuck off his shirt. Though he struggles in removing his jeans which in the downpour have become almost glued to him, but eventually he is down to just his boxers.

George uses the towel to quickly get some of the rain and cold off his skin. Wanting to put clothes on as quickly as possible. A little because of the cold but mostly the feeling of awful embarrassment of being half-naked in the same room as Dream. If not only because he knows he's probably not much to look at in contrast to the broad stroke of Dream's shoulders.

He used to be able to get away with being a line of straight limbs when he was a swimmer and it meant he at least had lean muscle. But now he's just a lanky length of torso and legs. With pale skin that has gone red where he's rubbed the towel against his frame to dry.

When he is dried off enough he shoves on a clean and blessedly warm jumper. It's a bit too big, falling over his knuckles, he rolls the cuffs over a couple of times. But it's very cosy.

When he's ready, George turns to face Dream who is no closer to getting ready. Still shirtless.

Looking over in George's direction a little vacantly. It's his own fault if he's tired from the run in the rain.

"Are you getting changed or just standing around in wet trousers?" George says and Dream blinks tiredly and smiles sheepishly.

"I'm drying my hair!" He huffs - rubbing a towel against his damp hair for emphasis. No shot George believes him but he lets it rest.

Moving on, George picks up his wet heap of clothing from the floor and manoeuvres it to the washing basket, another thing he will sort out tomorrow.

When it feels safe, George turns back again. Dream's got a threadbare looking t-shirt on, it appears soft to the touch - a t-shirt he may once have worn during the day but now, with age has been designated to sleepwear. 

It's certainly old looking, with a fading Hard Rock Cafe Orlando logo across the front. He's shoved sweatpants on too, these distinctly ordinary. Part of Dream's usual wardrobe when he's sitting around doing nothing.

"Food?" Dream asks though the question is rhetorical. Without question, they'll be ordering food.  
  
  


Sitting on the floor in front of George's TV, their backs against the couch, they devour a Nando's that George had ordered them. George cross-legged and Dream's legs outstretched in front of him - crossing at the ankles of his sock-covered feet.

It's late, but not too late and there is some Channel 4 gameshow playing. George is as sure of what it is as Dream, he literally never watches TV unless it's to connect to his Netflix or Youtube.

"I was thinking." Dream says, then takes a moment to pop a handful of chips in his mouth. British chips - not the American ones they call crisps here.

"You think?" George gasps mockingly, he can't help himself. It feels easy when compared to taking anything with Dream seriously. There's no pressure or worries he'll mess up when everything he says can be passed off as a joke.

" _Ha Ha Ha_ ," Dream mocks after swallowing his fries, "We should do some videos together, like Minecraft but we share a keyboard? Or you use the keyboard, I control the mouse."

"That could be fun. And we could stream some different games together? Play co-op?"

"Other than Minecraft? Who are you and what have you done with George Not Found?" Dream gasps dramatically.

"He's dead. I killed him." George shrugs, "I don't know I just think it could be funny."

"We'll figure it out. I want to do some Dream SMP stuff too, I don't wanna miss out on too much, or miss anyone."

Entire storylines can pass by in a single stream, and Dream has a feeling they'll be missing more than just one in the near future. He wonders if there could be a storyline where Dream and George possess the same body. Though maybe the DreamNotFound jokes might end up being taken too far with that one. Tommy would certainly use it as an opportunity for a great clickbait YouTube video at least.

"We could play Jackbox? Quackity is always texting me to stream it with him."

"I guess you won't be able to use facecam for awhile huh?"

"It's worth it if I get to stream with you." George shrugs, nonchalantly.   
  
Someone must say something funny on the TV because the audience burst into loud hysterics that make Dream jolt.

"That could be fun, streaming anything with you is always fun." Dream eats a British chip and stays quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter song - keep you warm by jaguar sun


	6. you better believe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for slight derealisation towards the end of this chapter.

There's a point after being full and tired and happy when you have to make a move. From the couch that's giving you backache to the bed that seems oh-so far away. 

George doesn't want to move - too comfy. But he knows he'll regret it, that they both will if they don't.

Dream's all stretched out next to him, taking up more of the couch than is necessary. Arsehole. Passed out in an exhausted coma of sleep. He's actually snoring, head tilted back and mouth hanging open and George is really tempted to take a video of it because it could definitely be used as blackmail somewhere down the line. Even if he does just end up sending it to Sapnap.

But then Dream stirs, rousing with a sharp inhale. His mouth closes, his brow furrows, his limbs stretch out and then relax with an almighty sigh.

Eventually, after a long second, he opens his eyes, "George?" His voice is a rolling rumble - barely intelligible. But George's heard enough of the same tone over the years to get the gist.

It's 1 am, so much for fixing their sleep schedule.

"Hi," George says, voice small. He feels small. The world around him does too. Like they're captured in this little intimate bubble, with the TV still playing something muted in the background. Light flickering across the room as the pictures and colours change. Dream's skin reflecting all of it. The whites of his eyes reflect it the most, glittering with white-blue light. Making the shadows of his eyelashes seem darker, the curve and bend of his nose sharper.

There's near-distant London traffic noise - a universal constant. Sirens and passing cars. Sometimes, if you listen close enough, the voices of people passing on the street below, not quite drowned out by the white-noise of the city.

But it all feels so far away, from in here. In the quiet comfort of George's flat. With Dream, arms reach away, spread carefree on George's couch.

Whenever he tried to imagine Dream here, in London, he never imagined this. Not the simple pleasure of mundanity. How Dream fits just right into the dip of his couch, not a part of him out of place or awkward about it.

George's cat purrs rhythmically where she's curled against Dream's side, closer to him than the edge. One of his hands sits idly in her soft fur.

Dream makes a peaceful humming sound, his head tilting sideways, hair smushed on one side against a pillow. His gaze falls against the walls of George's flat, probably to the half-empty bookshelf filled more with knick-knacks than actual reading material.

He looks around like he's making sense of it, knitting it together with what he knew and what he's now learning. From the rectangle box George was in. Slightly pixellated webcam footage, the view of a single wall and a half-made bed. To the three-sixty view he gets now, all of the walls of George's flat available to him.

Dream's gaze follows the layout of the room, gaze flickering and settling on things he notices. Sometimes, he spares George a sneaking look. 'Cause he knows he's being watched. Like he's checking George is still watching. His lip quirks upwards every time he catches George's eye.

"Did you know 65% of UK homes contain at least one magnolia wall? Bet you didn't." George blurts out but doesn't let the sticky embarrassment consume him like he usually would. Not in the bubble. It's safe here.

"Who would know something as pointless as that. Idiot." Dream gives him a long look containing an eye roll and tilted smile. All comfortable affection. Idiot feels more like a pet name coming out of Dream's mouth than anything close to an insult.

George grins lazily in reply. He feels like he's being looked at under a microscope. Dream's passive stare surrounds him.

It's strange, Dream being in his space and not knowing what he's thinking when he looks at the framed Star Wars 'Visit Tatooine' poster on George's wall, next to a collage of photos with friends and family George was given by his sister on his twenty-first birthday.

Does he see it all? Does it help fill in the gaps and paint the full picture? George wants to know if it's the same for Dream, if every new piece of information feels like a missing puzzle piece you find under the couch cushions. Even though you've completed most of the picture, you get a little more of the detail. A missing line or corner. The splotch of colour that makes a transition complete. One step closer to the last piece.

The difference between people and jigsaws is there is always going to be missing pieces. You can splay yourself open for someone and still, they won't know the full story.

George's cat flicks her tail, body moving as she unfurls a little, letting herself sink against Dream's side even more than she already is. Warm affection grows in George's chest, he looks at her and then Dream and they smile about it together.

Yeah. Their own little bubble.  
  
  


At 2:30 am the contemplative peace is interrupted by Karl, Quackity and Sapnap deciding to spam their phones with messages and calls.

George answers a call from Karl in begrudging acceptance.

"What?" He coughs out, words cottony in his throat. Dream grins and shuffles closer. George has to put the call on loudspeaker so they can both hear - but the audio quality isn't that great.

"George!" Karl's scream emerges from the tinny iPhone speaker.

"Karl," George responds, in a drawling, annoyed tone.

"Georgie-poo where are you?"

"What are you talking about?" He's right here at home with Dream, George thinks.

"My Stream! Sponsored by Hot Pocket's. _Tee-Em!_ They're tasty and convenient," Karl cries but continues to fulfil the requirements of his brand deal with Hot Pockets™ who are paying him lots of money to say this and also kinda because Hot Pockets are good. Especially the Philly Steak and Cheese ones.

"Oh-kay," George over-enunciates his clear disgruntlement at Karl's not-so-subtle product placement.

"Hello, Karl." Dream leans towards George's phone. He smells like rain and sleep.

 _"Dream!_ " The noise is deafening, if George had been wearing headphones they'd have broke and his eardrums would have exploded. God, is this how it feels when he screeches in videos sometimes? Surely not.

"Hi!" Dream repeats, smiling with his teeth even though no one but George can see him. Because unlike George, Dream is always happy to be a part of someone else's bit. "Are you, like, streaming right now?"

"Yes! Say hi to chat! Quackity and Sapnap are also here but don't say hello to them. Just me and chat." George wonders how many Monster's Karl chugged before streaming today.

"Hello chat. Not hello to the rest of you." A short laugh escapes Dream's lips.

"You guys going to hop on Discord and pop off with us, or?"

Dream spares George a glance.

George shrugs.

"Sure, we'll pop off for a little."

"YEEAAAAAA-" The call ends abruptly. Oops, George totally didn't mean to do that...

George looks at Dream but not with the relaxed comforting lens of the bubble. That slipped away the moment the real world sunk back in with the first spamming phone call. It's a look that he hopes conveys, _what have you gotten us in to?_

"C'mon. You know you want to." Dream uses his shoulder to shove at George's shoulder, leaning into him a little. George shoves back with a soft huff.

"Tired."

"Nah. You'll feel left out if you miss these idiots being, well... idiots."

"I hate that you're right." George closes his eyes and blows out air from his nose.

Dream stands and stretches tall, something clicking in a satisfying sounding way. His hands come down to rest against his hips as he waits for George to make a move.

George needs to boot up his PC, accumulate a chair for Dream to sit on and wake up enough to join in with stream nonsense. Though maybe the nonsense will be enough in itself to make him feel something past brain dead.

The bubble might be broken but that doesn't mean George wants to leave the warm comfort of the couch. Dream still stands there, looming, like a tall, annoying dimwit.

"Up," He says, raising his foot a bit to kick at George's shins.

George gives it a few calculated seconds and stands slowly. Not because Dream said to, but because he felt like it and _actually_ he was uncomfortable anyway and— yeah. Whatever, George doesn't even believe himself.

He stands because Dream asked him to and George isn't as vindictive as he'd have anyone believe. Most importantly Dream.

George drags a chair from the kitchen table, puts a pillow on it to cushion the cheap wood and sits Dream in it. It's an annoying fit. The office chair George uses is bulky and the armrest is in the way. But George moves his chair along enough that Dream can get close to the desk.

He pulls Karl's stream up whilst they wait for Discord to boot.

" _POPPING OFF IN JACKBOX WITH THE BOYS (YOU KNOW WHO)_." Dream reads the title out, eyebrow raised. They don't seem to have started, waiting for George and Dream to actually start playing anything. Karl's talking with full-cam to Sapnap and Quackity. Chat flies by in a frenzy of spam and general Twitch Chat-ness.

"Oh wait. I only have one pair of headphones." George frowns. He picks up the set of wireless headphones he usually wears when streaming - hardly useful to two people.

"I have my AirPods, I used them on the flight." Dream shoots up swiftly and goes to where his bag is dumped next to George's bed, kneeling down and digging through it.

Discord finally decides to open and George joins the call - staying deafened whilst Dream returns with the little white Airpod case. He puts them in his ears whilst they fiddle with connecting them to the Bluetooth on George's PC. It connects and he hands George a bud to put in.

They undeafen to raucous laughter, it takes a few seconds for any of their three friends to notice they've joined.

"Georgie!" Quackity greets them with an accent that is clearly supposed to be British.

"Ello," George replies, he tucks his feet under himself. His usual comfortable position when he knows he's going to be streaming for a long while. Quackity's rambling on about something in an overly excited tone and George shares a look with Dream. He's already meeting George's eye. Dream flashes him a smile and quickly looks to George's monitors.

"Hurry up guys! We've been waiting forever." Karl's exaggerated whine fills the one earbud.

George guffaws, "You told us about this like ten minutes ago!"

"Hurry!"

"We're joining, give us a second." Dream chuckles.

George quickly searches the Discord group chat. "Have you even sent a code?"

"Yeah, of course I have."

George takes a glance at Karl on his second monitor, the slight delay shows his wide-eyed reply and his hands fly to his keyboard as Karl presumably sends the code their way.

"So you're not just sending it right now?"

"No, of course not!"

"Karl! I'm literally watching the stream."

"He's lich-rally watching the stream, Karl." Quackity mimics George. It is not accurate at all to how George sounds.

On his second monitor Karl's chat seems to have broken into its usual chaos, including repeated spams of _'It's real', 'Dream's in London'_ and variants on _'whHJADJKSDJKDK'_ , which Karl's moderators seem to be having a hard time deleting efficiently. Occasionally, messages of _'CHAT CHILL'_ fly by. It doesn't seem to do anything to diffuse the chaos.

"What're we playing?"

"Quiplash first. For sure," Karl says, just as George receives the game code to join.

"Wait, what do you think about me and George answering together." Dream leans forward, speaking close to the mic. George notices there are sleep lines on Dream's cheek from where his face was pressed against the couch only minutes ago. An indentation that probably matches the crease of the cushion he was laying on.

"Then there'd be two of you answering, total unfair advantage," Sapnap complains, they hear his chair squeak as he leans back against it.

Quackity cackles. "Like either of them are funny enough to win on their own. They'll still lose together."

"Bring it Quackity, we're going to win this just for you." Dream's eyes flash, his competitive streak already flaring up. His face changes into a smug grin.

George pulls Jackbox up on his computer and enters the code, as he clicks on the box to enter his name, Dream bats his hands away.

"What?" He frowns, Dream ignores him. Typing away on George's keyboard until the name _DreamNotFound_ is written inside the box for their name.

"You're not putting that." George exhales loudly, though he's already accepted the truth. Dream is a taunting little shit.

"What?" Quackity asks.

Dream smirks and presses enter.

George shoves Dream's hands away from his keyboard with a perfectly aimed swat. He's just fueled chat for the entirety of the night now, there will be no end to this.

Karl and Quackity cackle. But the stream hasn't seen it yet. Because Sapnap's apparently having trouble typing out a four-letter code and his own username.

Once he's in and the code can be leaked, Karl shares the Jackbox screen with the viewers.

George doesn't even need to glance at chat to know what he'll see. He gives Dream's continued evil grin an eye-roll.

As the game begins, George mutes them so they can talk about their answers without revealing anything to the boys and to chat.

"Oh god! Your mouse is backwards, George what the hell?" Dream grabs at George's mouse in sudden realisation. It's on the left-hand side of his keyboard. The side Dream is sat on. He knows George's setup is backwards, but George supposes it's different actually seeing it when you're used to the normal way.

"I'm left-handed idiot."

"No shit, this is so weird." Dream wiggles the mouse back and forth with his left hand, the cursor bounces around the screen. He goes quiet, eyes focused on watching the cursor loop and glide across, his fingers occasionally clicking the inverted buttons, he uses it to open and close Firefox.

"Can we play Quiplash or are you just going to waste time watching a cursor move." George raises his eyebrow at Dream. Though his look may be judgemental, he's deeply amused watching Dream getting absorbed by something so normal.

"Oh, yeah. That's what we're doing." Dream's focus turns to the Jackbox prompts that have appeared for them to answer. "No way is that an actual prompt," Dream guffaws as he reads what has appeared on their screen.

George frowns and reads it quickly, ' _Damn it, I failed No Nut November because of ___.'_

"Oh my god."George's laughter hiccups.

"I have the perfect answer." Dream quickly takes over the keyboard and types out his response.

"Dream," George whines as he reads it," you're just farming votes from chat with that."

He has literally just put George's username.

"That's the whole point of the game! It's a solid answer. Anyway, we don't have time. Let's just do the next one." It's so dumb and as reluctant as George is to admit it, Dream's right. The viewers will definitely vote for that.

Despite some arguments over what to put they get through the rest of the prompts fairly efficiently. The time comes to turn their mic back on and for their prompts to go up against the others. With chat deciding who answered best.

"Good luck, good luck. Except you George, fuck you." Big Q says sweetly.

"Rude," George mutters into the mic, half cut off as Karl reads out the first prompt as it appears to the viewers.

" _As Shakespeare once said.._."

It's going to be a difficult round for the voters, what with the answer ' _I just fucked George's mom'_ going up against ' _eat ass, suck a dick, sell drugs'._

"Who even put that?" George is only partially taken aback by it. A side effect of dealing with these people he calls his friends on a daily basis is growing unfortunately used to their shenanigans. Everyone cackles, Dream wheezes beside him. George shoves Dream's shoulder with his own. Like Dream did to him in the living room. Dream pushes back.

It's inevitable, there's no question which prompt wins. Sapnap screeches in victory for saying Shakespeare fucked George's mom.

Quackity groans, "C'mon chat!"

"Sapnap, what the hell?" George reproaches.

"See," Dream says quietly to George, "Pandering always wins."

The next round begins soon after.

The prompt, _'Damn it I failed No Nut November because of ___'_ appears on George's monitor.

Dream and George smile confidently, the win is in the bag with this one.

Their answer appears first, _GeorgeNotFound_ in all it's voteable, pandering glory.

Quackity practically howls, George sighs in resignation whilst Sapnap and Karl don't even try and stifle their laughter.

"Trueeee." Karl sings.

"That was Dream." George says, clearly suffering.

"It's true." 

Unexpectedly, what follows blows George and Dream's answer out of the water.

 _'Dream and George gay moments compilation'_ appears in the second answer box.

It's perfect. It's the definition of an answer that will farm viewer votes. Despite the foothold _GeorgeNotFound_ has with a significant portion of the voters, the opposition's absolute banger of an answer is undoubtedly superior.

"Whose answer even is that? That is so pandering." Dream laughs and scorns simultaneously. It's hypocritical really considering their answer is also pandering to their viewers.

Karl is practically choking on laughter, it's fair to assume he's the culprit.

"I hate you, Karl." George groans.

Undoubtedly _, 'Damn it I failed No Nut November because of Dream and George gay moments compilation'_ wins. It's a landslide victory.

"That's a Quiplash bay-be!" Quackity calls out.

The rest of the stream continues its chaotic trend. Highlights include: _'A twist to make maid cafe's even more interesting would be ___'._ Featuring answers such as: _'C_ _atboy Maid George'_ , courtesy of Big Q and _'C_ _atboy Maid Quackity'_ , from George and Dream. In a surprise twist, catboy maid Quackity wins the vote. Mainly due to audience pandering by Karl. As well as Big Q's outraged fake crying through an autotune filter all because George threatened to send the video of Alex meowing to Karl for the stream to see.

A personal favourite Quiplash of George's is the prompt, _'The award for dumbest person in the history of all time goes to'_. In which Sapnap writes _'T_ _he person reading this'_ and Karl's answer is simple, but effective: _'Sapnap.'_

Karl is the clear winner.

Dream stretches with a wince. "My back is killing me from that chair."

He stands in the centre of George's bedroom, eyes tracking George's movement as he swings from side to side in his office chair.

"Sucks to suck."

"You could have offered to swap seats, asshole."

"Could have just asked if you wanted to swap."

"Would you have said yes?"

"Well, no."

"So rude, did your mom not teach you any manners?"

"No, my _mum_ did."

"British people, you're the worst."

"Americans." George retaliates with a scoff.

Dream's in good cheer still, despite the time, and the amount of energy they just put into the stream.

They left the call not long after Karl ended. The two of them probably could have stayed in the call for another few hours if they'd wanted to. The others were still talking away when they left. But Dream was growing uncomfortable and George is sleepy. The time reads 4:18 am on his phone.

George stands too, mimicking Dream in a stretch that relaxes the aching muscles of his back.

With a loud exhale George makes a move towards the other room, scrubbing a hand through his hair and then across his face, rubbing carefully at his eyes which are burning a little from staring at a screen for so long. Dream follows after him quietly. It's as they left it. Almost completely dark, the television emitting a blue-ish light that stretches across the room. Highlighting the disarray they left the couch in. George avoids it, instead stepping towards his darkened kitchen. There's no reason to be here. George just wants somewhere to stand for a moment, breathe in the cool night air.

"Are you tired?" He asks Dream.

"Exhausted." Dream sighs, it's obvious in the droop of his eyelids and the downwards slant of his shoulders.

"Do you want to go to sleep?"

"No." Dream's eyes close, he leans back against the counter. "Not yet." Hair messy, feet bare, back-lit by dancing light.

If George closes his own eyes, it feels reminiscent of any number of Discord call conversations. Both of them tired and without much to say but lazy fragments of sentence. Sighing at one another to remind themselves they're still awake. They stay motionless like that for a long while that is possibly only a couple of minutes. It reminds George of Dream humming a song he's listening to on his end of the line. Of George's occasional keyboard taps.

The kitchen is dark, quiet and a little cold. Outside, a car's brakes squeal as it comes to a stop. The kitchen window is slightly open, letting in the night air and noise.

George tugs at the sleeves of his jumper until they're covering his hands.

The only noise in the kitchen comes from the sink. Dripping away is the leaky tap, that doesn't stop no matter how tight you turn the handle. Dream is motionless and George doesn't know what to do with himself. With his hands which are cold and his body that is restless.

He tried relating this to a Discord call because that is at least familiar. But this is nothing like that.

They're stood in George's kitchen. It's way too early or way too late, depending on how you look at it. And they're pointlessly stood in George's kitchen. He walked them in here because he doesn't know what he's doing or what he's supposed to.

Dream doesn't want to sleep, _not yet._

Maybe George needs to get a glass of water because his throat is dry and it's hard to swallow.

"George?" Dream whispers. Drawing George away from his thoughts and back to the present. The tap drips twice, a loud pitter-patter against the metal basin. It rings too loud in George's ears, almost drowns out Dream's voice altogether.

It doesn't feel real. Doesn't feel like he's actually here.

George hums in answer, throat parched. 

"Can I hug you?"

George parts his lips to reply but the words get stuck because he's thirsty. He nods instead.

It feels awkward, though it probably shouldn't. George doesn't think anyone's ever asked him for a hug like this before. They are, in his experience, something you do to say hello or goodbye or his mum's warm, embraces when she comes to visit him. Sometimes like she's trying to squish him back down to the size of the child he once was. Dream steps towards him, George stays rooted to the spot.

It's like this.

Dream sways into George's space in a fluid easy motion. His arms wrapping around George's back and pulling them chest to chest. George leans forward a little and Dream's neck bends, head pressing against George's shoulder. A hand rests against the small of George's back, the other holding where George's neck meets his shoulders, fingertips brushing against George's hairline. And George lets his arms settle around Dream's waist.

It's nice here, warm and comfortable to lean against someone. George can feel Dream breathing against him, his chest moving. His breath warm against George's neck. But still, George is unsettled. Because as bright and full and whole as Dream is in front of him. And though the memories of today are in sharp technicolour in his mind, he can't make sense of this.

"Dream?"

The man in question pulls back a little, questioning look on his face.

"Are you real? Are you actually here?" George swallows. He wants to shove the words back down his throat. But they've already clawed their way out.

Dream frowns, confused. "Of course I'm here. Who else would be hugging you right now?" He squeezes George a little tighter. "This isn't a dream." He smiles softly at his own joke.

George snorts but quickly steers the conversation back to where he wants it to go.

"We've known each other for like four years now, right?" Dream nods carefully. "I always thought if we met I'd go to you. In Florida. That Sapnap would be there and we'd have it all planned out. You just showed up here, exactly like something I'd dream or imagine."

George pulls away from the hug now, rooting his feet to the spot. Dream's arms have slipped away from their hold on him. George's body sways a little, backwards, he finds purchase again against the edge of the counter.

"I don't know what to say. I wish I could walk you through what I was thinking but I-" Dream looks away, blinking to the counter the right of George for a beat. He swallows like he's holding something down. "—I impulse bought that ticket. I just, I was overwhelmed. I wanted to see you, I wanted you to see me." He wrings his hands together, fingers sliding against themselves.

"You could have just FaceTime'd me. Save you a dollar or two." George manages to say.

"I know that would have been the logical thing to do. But I think I just work in extremes, especially with the people I love." George thinks about Dream's break up with his ex. The short spans of time in which they've actually argued, sharp words and brutal jabs. The way Dream falls apart or fights with every last breath in him. "This is harder than it could have been, isn't it?"

"It's okay." George smiles, it feels like a grimace, but he hopes it's convincing enough. He tries not to force it out too much. "I'm just, making sense of you still. You were just a voice to me, for so long. Now you're a whole person. I know that rationally you've always been a person. It's just my head doesn't want to connect the dots. I can feel totally fine with you being here one moment, then the next it consumes me."

"I want to do whatever I can to make this work."

"Me too."

George has no answer for what they can do to make this easy. If Dream does, he says nothing.

The tap drips, pitter-patter. The night air remains unchanged. Dream stands in front of George. As real as he can ever be.

George escapes to bed, Dream following after. Covers shift, the bed dips. The only light in the room comes from Dream's phone as he types a message to someone. Soon enough, he locks his phone and puts it on the side table next to him.

George falls asleep eventually.

  
He dreams of a man in a porcelain mask. Tied back with pale-blue ribbon, done up in a bow that is covered and hidden by tufts and curls of golden-brown hair.

Wearing a deep green cloak that covers his shoulders. Hood pulled back as though it has just fallen away from his head in the cool breeze. Where it's clasped in the front by a simple loop, it partially covers the dark, black-purple of his shining armour.

In his hand is an axe - this gleams that same deep colour as the strange metal he wears. The blade razor-like and freshly sharpened. He is clearly a man who cares deeply about his tools.

Though this man's craft is not cutting logs. No, his axe swings yield a much different purpose.

He stands still, precipitation in the air moving around him.

George tries to grab hold of the space around them. Bring it into focus. He thinks they're in some sort of open field - though it's too foggy to see. He can't even make out the ground below his feet. It's all a grey rainy blur. The air sits too close. He has to blink the wetness away from his eyes.

The man moves first, two steps towards George. Up close, through the fog, George can see that the white-sheen of his mask is not quite as perfect as it seems. There are hairline cracks and a poorly repaired clean-break that runs through the centre. Offsetting the crudely drawn smile, just slightly. Lines not quite matching up anymore. He says nothing. The hand not holding the axe reaches out. Despite the armour and the heavy cloak, his hands are bare. Calloused and scarred and unwavering. A hand that is meant to be taken.

Grey, they're surrounded by grey emptiness and nothing else, as though time and space has seized around them, suspended in this moment. The man reaches out. George's searching hand reaches back.

He grabs hold of the hand he's offered. It is cold and wet and unassuming. The rainy mist stills, no longer falling or floating. Simply sitting in place. Droplet's glistening all around.

Then, they are falling.

The ground, if there ever was any, has disappeared from beneath them. Dream's grip stays strong and firm in George's.

With nothing but wet air around them, they plummet together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter song you better believe!!! by declan mckenna
> 
> i don't have anything to say... thank you for all the comments though! i genuinely can't function for a moment when i read them<3 but they're very appreciated. <33


	7. dream sweet in sea major

Day breaks, it's still raining. In fact, it's pouring. Loud against the window panes, with wind brazen enough that it wails with every hearty gust.

Dream is already awake. Propped up by pillows and looking at his phone. It's unclear whether the rain and wind woke him or if he emerged from sleep of his own accord. George squints at him, sleepily humming in greeting. The room appears grainy or perhaps George's vision is just blurry still - he needs to rub at his eyes and rid them of sleep.

"Hey," Dream says lowly, then clears his throat of some of the morning rasp.

"How long h've you been 'wake?" George mumbles, missing vowels, the cogs in his brain aren't turning yet.

"Not long, twenty minutes." One of Dream's hands come down just short of the top of George's head. Probably just about missing his messy bedhead, he almost wonders... but Dream interrupts the thought, "Want to hear what trended last night?"

"Go on then." George lets out a short huff, head-heavy against his pillow, looking up at Dream through his eyelashes.  
  
 _"SAME MIC_ \- YouTuber Dream proves fans who didn't believe he was meeting up with friend GeorgeNotFound wrong when they appeared on Karl Jacob's stream together."

"They have a lot of trust issues because of us," George whispers, eyes fluttering shut - it's really too early to keep them open. Though if George were to guess, it's around lunchtime at this point. He could sleep for another few hours if Dream wasn't here, but his friend is enough reason to force him to stay awake.

The wind whistles outside. Dream laughs at something, his chest moving enough that George can feel its shake through the mattress.

"What," George mutters, opening an eye.

"Nothing. Something funny on Twitter." It feels the same. The same way it's always been. Except now there's not an ocean separating them, just a few inches of quilt and mattress.

"Oh." George doesn't care enough to ask to see it and Dream's probably scrolled away now.

"My mom sends her love by the way," Dream adds.

"Tell her I said hi or the same, or whatever you're supposed to say to a friend's mum sending their love."

Dream snorts. "You are so awkward."

"What am I actually supposed to say to that?"

Dream gives him a searching look," I don't know, you just make things, like, so much more awkward than they need to be."

"Whatever. You're awkward," George refutes, turning his head away in revolt.

"Okay George, I'm the awkward one." Dream's tone is sarcastic and George elects to ignore it.

"Glad we agree."

He can feel the eye roll Dream aims at him, it's that palpable.

When he looks back, because he can't resist, George finds Dream smiling softly at him. There's something so honest about it that it hurts to see. George closes his eyes again, sinks under and wills himself to forget it. "What do you wanna do today?" He mumbles.

"Nothing, not move from bed for the whole day." Dream shrugs, George hears the rustling of fabric and the slight bang as George's loose headboard connects with the wall as Dream's shoulder's move. If he looks he knows he'll find Dream, aloof and lovely with his hair all mussed and head tilted sideways to look down at his friend.

"We could do that." George agrees breathlessly.

"Nah, we couldn't."

"Who's gonna stop us?" George makes Dream consider, he dares to open his eyes again, blinking owlishly at him.

Dream gives him a contemplative look, "True... Let's stay here, for a little while."

He feels it for a moment, fingertips brushing against his scalp, weaving through strands of hair. His eyes flutter shut for the half-second of contact.

But the touch is fleeting. Disappears before its ever truly begun. It was unfortunately accidental/ As Dream moved his arm from where it was laid over George's pillow back to his side.

George breathes out slowly.

"Do you have your laptop handy?"

"Yeah." George doesn't elaborate. He knows where it is, but has no energy to bother explaining it. Hopefully, if he stays quiet Dream will think he's fallen asleep and George can continue quietly observing Dream in his bed and how nice it was for that half-second Dream's hand was in his hair.

"Well, where is it, George?"

"What do you want it for?" George grumbles.

"I don't know, watch Netflix, put something on YouTube maybe."

He sighs, "It's in the drawer, my side of the bed."

There's a pause, a good long one, then Dream makes a little huffing noise before he speaks, "Can you get it please?"

"No thanks." It would definitely be easier to just get it. George doesn't move.

"George, you're closer to it than I am."

"You're the one who wants to watch something."

Dream sighs loudly in clear resignation. George tries not to gloat in satisfaction, even when Dream mutters, "so difficult," loud enough that George is clearly supposed to hear. He's well aware it's not supposed to be an actual jab, so he lets Dream get away with it.

Dream moves, bed shifting and then sinking close to George's side as he leans over to get at the laptop. A knee stabs into George's ribs.

"Ow." George grumbles and his eyes fly wide open, properly miffed at being assaulted in his own bed. Dream gives him a sorry enough look as compensation, one of his hands comes and rests against George's shoulder, weighing down and anchoring him to the bed as well as George. Dream leans precariously towards the bedside table and pulls open the top drawer. George carefully looks away from the strip of skin that appears as Dream's t-shirt moves aside in his stretch but not before seeing the warm-tone of his stomach and how it tenses as he reaches for the drawer.

"Couldn't you just have walked around like a normal person?" George maintains his scowl.

"That wouldn't have annoyed you near enough." Dream looks back at George for a second, grinning sharply.

George hears the top drawer roll open, a slight bang as the laptop knocks against something on the way out.

With laptop in hand, Dream plonks himself back onto his side of the bed, enough to make the mattress bounce, the headboard to hit the wall again and George to feel thoroughly ruffled.

"I hate you."

"No," Dream sings cockily.

Completely awake now, George glares at Dream and sits up some more, though the quilt is still pulled up to under his chin. Watching Dream as he opens the laptop.

"Password?"

"Let me type it." A hand emerges from the covers and makes a grabbing gesture.

"Just tell me, I won't snitch or use it for anything nefarious. Is it something embarrassing?" Dream guesses, pulling a mock surprise face.

"No. you just can't know all my secrets."

"George, you wish you were that mysterious." Dream passes him the laptop anyway.

George huffs and quickly types in his password... it's Alohamora. Nothing overly embarrassing, he just doesn't want Dream to laugh at how much of a nerd he is. He's got enough fuel to that fire and George is in no rush to give him more.

"Thanks, now it's unlocked you don't mind if I look through all your secret folders, right?"

"You wish you knew what was in my secret folders."

"So you have them?"

Scoffing, George replies quickly. "Obviously not, you're the one who suggested I did in the first place."

Dream opens Google, there's a handy saved Netflix bookmark that he can click on. He puts on The Office, babbling on about something that George simply lets fall past his ears. Something about how unfair it is that the UK gets the show on Netflix but the US doesn't. God, he doesn't know if it's the rain outside, or how warm and comfortable he feels, but George could stay here forever.

Eventually, peace is disturbed. George's cat wants something, be it attention or just to announce her presence. She walks into the room and makes it known rather loudly by mewing incessantly. Only settling when she jumps on the bed and Dream allows her to rub her little face against his palm. Traitor. She already loves Dream more than she loves George.

"She reminds me of Patches." He quietly whispers, more to himself than George, though maybe they're so apart of each other that its the same thing. The thought slips into George's mind and he takes hold of it, folds it in half then into quarters and tucks it away somewhere it will get lost with all the other shit that fills his head.

It takes a long moment for George to actually advance in any motion. But eventually, George rolls out of bed in an angsty fit worthy of a teenage girl on a school day, ignoring Dream's completely smug look.

George is craving a cup of tea and some biscuits. Nothing new there.

Dream asks for something cold, scrunching his nose up with the proffered tea or coffee. So George leaves the warm sanctuary of bed to the cold evil of the rest of the flat. The main room is full of static silence, filled only by the noise of the kettle after George flicks it on.

He turns to the fridge, raiding it for something for Dream.

"Want apple juice?" He calls to Dream, stepping into the doorway of his bedroom. A hand tucked under the bottom of his jumper and flat against his stomach, in a futile attempt to preserve body heat. As though this is some arctic storm and not just an average August day in London. It's not really helping anyway, because whilst his hand is getting warmer, the bunched up jumper is exposing even more skin and making him break out in goosebumps.

"Sure." Dream watches him, wide-eyed.

George turns away, frees his hand and grabs the unopened bottle of apple juice acquired the last time his mum came and stocked his cupboards. She worries he won't feed himself properly if she doesn't give him at least the bare essentials on her visits.

He opens it and pours a glassful.

For a quiet moment, as the kettle boils, George watches the street below from the kitchen window. It's darker than what it should be at this hour, with the clouds shading the sky a murky steel grey. It reminds him for a moment of his dream. Of falling through some grey unknown with a man in a mask, whose identity is unmistakable. George doesn't remember his dream's all that often, they generally slip away or go forgotten as time passes and he gets on with the day. This too will probably be another. Yet he wonders why his mind procured such a vivid picture.

Outside, something shifts in the clouds, the rain still pours. But George has a feeling it will change before too long.

He rushes to finish making his tea, then tucks a pack of digestives under his arm. Glass in one hand and a mug in the other, George returns to Dream. Still surrounded by the quilt, limbs sprawled and laptop sat beside him, Dream laughs quietly to himself at some early season episode of The Office that's playing. It's endearing, for whatever reason, catching Dream smiling like that, off-guard and carefree. He lingers in the doorway. Just observing. Dream spots him anyway.

"I was thinking, we should cook something tonight." Dream says in lieu of a greeting, his arm raises to take the glass from George.

"Cook?" George scrunches his nose up. He was planning on taking the opportunity of Dream's visit to eat takeaway virtually every night for the foreseeable future. He hands Dream the cold glass of apple juice and walks around to the other side of the bed.

"Yes cook, do you even know how to do that?"

Dream is unfortunately aware of George's McDonald's addiction. Truth being, he doesn't need an excuse to eat takeaway every night of the week.

This is why his mum worries about keeping his cupboards stocked.

"I know how to cook." George sets the mug and biscuits down on the bedside table firmly.

"What, beans on toast? Or whatever weird shit British people eat."

George ignores the opportunity to roast American food, despite it being just as bad most of the time. "No, even I agree that's gross. I can cook... stuff."

"Okay then," Dream says in clear disbelief, " _I'll_ cook us something then shall I?"

"What can you cook?" George sits down on the mattress as he asks, cross-legged with his back resting against the headrest, shuffling until he is turned towards Dream.

"You know I make a pretty mean steak."

"I know that?"

"I've told you before."

"Well yeah but I've never seen any proof."

"Then let me prove it, idiot. I'll try to make it how my mom does, not that it will ever beat hers. You'll have to try it for real one day."

"In Florida?"

"Where else."

That sounds nice. Visiting Dream in Florida, the heat, the golden sun on Dream's skin. An escape from the cold shrug of London.

They settle back into the bed, George offering Dream a chocolate digestive biscuit. He's never had one before, though says they remind him of graham crackers (whatever those are).

He wonders if Florida is as hot as Dream describes, George has only ever experienced the heat of a British summer and if he can barely stand a heatwave here, Florida would be a whole other story, especially with the humidity that fills the air there.

He doesn't think it's a very accurate depiction to think of sunbeds and sand, ocean waves crashing against blue-water beaches. From how Dream's described it, Florida is nothing like that. But still, the thought of the warm heat warming his skin, Dream beaming as he splashes in crystal water, it burns bright in his mind.

"You said there aren't beaches in Orlando, right?"

Dream throws him a raised eyebrow, "No, you could travel to Clearwater though. I've been there a couple of times on trips and it's always nice, it's touristy. Or a pool if you just wanted to go swimming. Why?"

"Just thinking maybe I want to come and visit you some time. I'd tell you first though and not just show up on your doorstep."

"I didn't show up on your doorstep."

"Basically did."

George sips his tea, eyebrows raised and Dream watches him carefully, expression starting with amused and shifting to contemplative.

"You'd like it in Orlando. You look nice in the sun. Hot– _It's hot_ –I mean. It's hot in Florida and you don't seem like a big fan of the cold."

George pulls a confused face. "Thanks, I think?"

"I don't know, that came out weird. I just mean it's good for you. And as much as I like it here, London doesn't have nearly enough sun in it for you."

George moves past whatever Dream's trying to get at. He doesn't think Dream even knows.

"Can we go to the theme parks?"

"You'd love Universal, remember when I went around and recorded Harry Potter World for you and you started crying."

George groans. "No, I didn't."

"Don't lie, you were on call with Sapnap and started sniffling. And you wouldn't turn on your webcam."

"Had a cold. Didn't want him to see how sick I looked." George insists.

"George, come on now. Don't lie to yourself."

"Whatever," he takes a disgruntled sip of tea, "Harry Potter was an integral part of my childhood."

"I know, I'd love to go there with you."

George brightens.

"We could invite Sapnap this time."

"The Dream Team finally all together."

It would be nice, to see where Dream lives, to meet Patches. Strangely, he anticipates the idea of seeing where Dream streams and records and talks to George every day. The mini-fridge full of waters, the chair he sits in. He's constantly grasping for any new puzzle piece he can collect, it's lucky that Dream gives him them so easily. It might just be a chair in a room and probably isn't how George has embellished things in his head at all, but it's where Dream sits when he's telling one of his stories or explaining ideas for videos. Most of the time with his legs propped up on his desk, laid back in his chair. The most comfortable position - Dream's own words - though when George had to tried to emulate it he found the edge of the desk dug into the back of his legs and he rather felt like he was going to slip out of his chair.

Dream's seen all of George's spaces. It would be nice to see Dream's in return someday.

"Hey, weren't you supposed to upload a video the other day?"

George groans, leaning back until he's sunken into the pillows.

"George." George won't look at him. "You haven't even edited it have you?"

"I'm not to blame, you're the one who showed up at Gatwick Airport while I was in the middle of it."

"George," Dream repeats in the same tone, "you've had the footage for like a month now. You said you were going to get it done."

"You can't force me to edit it."

Dream's face grows into a Cheshire cat grin. "That won't work now that I'm actually here to make you edit it. You can't ignore me spamming your Discord messages about it now."

"What are you going to do? Tie me to the chair?"

They both pause, eyebrows raising simultaneously. Dream breaks first into surprised laughter, George following after.

"Not like that!" George splutters.

"Wow George, I really didn't need to know you were into that sort of stuff. But okay." Dream's gone red with the force of the air that has escaped his lungs,

Groaning in embarrassment, George scrubs a hand over his face. "Whatever. you can't make me do shit."

"I won't cook you a steak if you don't edit."

George considers, finds a flaw. "We don't even have the stuff to make steaks in, so it doesn't matter."

Dream reflects, finds a resolution. "I'll sweeten the deal then! I'll go out, to the nearest store and buy everything while you at least start editing."

"I mean I've already started it. Just need to sort some shit out." George sighs at the ordeal of doing some quick fixes that really won't take that long if he just puts the minimum effort in to get it out of the way.

"Even better! See George, it won't even take you that long. And you get a steak as a reward." Dream gives him his most beguiling look, it's unfortunately convincing.

"Fine."

Dream shuts the laptop whilst Dwight Schrute is mid-sentence. The Office can wait.  
  
  


He leaves George in the chair in front of his computer, with the intention of getting editing done in the time it will take Dream to Google-Maps-navigate his way to the nearest store.

It takes Dream seconds to pull at the pile of clothes spilling out of the suitcase to find something to wear. It's still lying in stasis, open on the floor of George's room. George has said he can borrow a few hangers to put stuff in the wardrobe or they can make space in some drawers. But Dream had just shrugged off the offer, despite the fact that he did basically show up on George's doorstep, that would feel too much like he was intruding. Or settling into a life he'll have to leave before too long. Shoving on black jeans and a sweatshirt, Dream leaves the suitcase splayed open on George's bedroom floor for another day.

George's input in helping Dream find the nearest store is to tell him to turn left when he leaves the flat and put in the directions for the Tesco Express that's a ten minute walk away. He then lets Dream get on with it, looking resolutely hard done by as he sits in the desk chair, pouting.

"Take a coat, it's still raining." George reminds for him.

So on his way out the door, Dream grabs George's North Face raincoat that is hanging up and shoves it on over his sweatshirt.

He plucks his AirPods from the pocket of his jeans and puts them in his ears before exiting the flat and walking down the creaking old steps to the ground floor. The rain continues its steady downpour, no more and no less heavy than when they got caught in it yesterday. Dream pulls up the hood, lingering in the doorway to the raining street as he pulls out his phone from his back pocket.

He's got a call to make while he walks and hopefully accompany him on his Great Journey to the Supermarket.

"Hi," Sapnap answers fairly quickly once the phone starts ringing.

"Hello, stranger." Dream shoves his phone into his pocket, letting his earphones do all the listening for him and starts walking left, not too worried about following Google's instructions yet, he needs to follow the straight line of this high street for a few minutes before turning off in any particular direction.

"Where are you, you sound weird."

"It's raining pretty badly, I'm walking to the store."

"Is George with you?"

The rain rushes down the side of the road, flushing down into the gutters. Where the pavement cracks and dips, puddles have formed and Dream is wary to step over them in his gym shoes. They're not exactly waterproof.

"Nah, he's editing. Thought we could catch up for a minute."

"We talked last night." He can hear the pleased amusement in Sapnap's voice.

"It's not the same on stream, though that was fun."

"Yeah, Karl and Alex want to do something again soon."

"We can do that, we should film some stuff. YouTube content and shit while I'm with George."

"What sort of thing are you thinking?"

Dream weaves past a group of teenagers crowding the pavement and in doing so, his foot lands right in the middle of waterlogged ground. His right shoe is soaked in an instant and so, in turn, is the sock and foot inside it. He sighs, Dream might like the rain, but a soggy, cold foot is definitely not enjoyable.

"You good dude?"

"Stepped in a puddle," he mutters and Sapnap laughs at his misfortune, "But, I'm not sure yet, let's talk about it later with George, I wanna know how you've been."

"Fine, great even! Trying not to feel jealous that you went and left for England without me." His tone is wistfully, dramatically, tragic. Dream rolls his eyes.

"Sorry," he replies because despite the jokes he does feel bad for leaving his best friend out. "I know I should have said something to you before I left."

"It's okay, I'm just confused as to why you actually did it, dude. You're impulsive, but I didn't think you were _'buy an expensive ticket to another country'_ impulsive."

"I don't know, I just did it," Dream says quickly, "I'm clearly more impulsive than you think."

"Dude, you're really not. Tell me what's up."

"I can't explain it. I just.. did it"

"Dream you don't have to bullshit me how you probably bullshitted George. I'm not as oblivious as he is." Sapnap outright confronts him.

"Nick..." Dream trails off. The rain drips from the hood of George's coat and splashes against Dream's nose, collecting at the tip, it bounces off his cheeks, running down and wetting his lips.

Sapnap stays silently waiting for a reply.

"You know why." Dream edges around the truth, the words forced out of his mouth. Stopping short of anything meaningful.

"Then say it." Sapnap pushes. The air is still despite the rain and the backdrop of a wet London street has faded away. He can just hear the white noise on the other end of the line as Sapnap waits.

"You clearly already think you know," Dream snaps. "Why should I say shit?" he finds himself growing agitated, this is too close to the truth of it. He feels itchy. He wants to run away from this conversation.

"Because I don't think you've even said it out loud to yourself yet." Sapnap's voice is slightly distorted, from the rain and the shitty connection, but Dream hears him all the same.

He comes to a stalling stop outside a worker's cafe advertising bacon sarnies and one-pound-a-cup coffee, the shutters are only half open and a lady is smoking in the doorway. Sapnap's words ring in his ears, Dream's hands long to find something to distract themselves from fidgeting with. He has no vices to help him.

"No," Dream swallows carefully, "I haven't."

"How are you supposed to say something to George if you can't even admit it to yourself?"

The woman in the doorway gives him a vacant stare, takes one last drag and drops her cigarette onto the concrete, squashing the ember-burn with her foot. She turns away. Dream breathes in the choking scent of cigarette smoke and wet petrichor.

"I'm not telling George."

There is a pause, time that Sapnap takes to gather all the air into his lungs and shout, "WHAT?"

Dream once again finds himself spamming the lower volume button at the sharp ferocity of Sapnap's voice in his eardrums. "Jesus, dude chill."

"Dream. What is the point in you?"

He wants to go back to the warmth of the flat with George, curl up in bed watching The Office, not quite daring enough to touch George in a way that is more than an accidental brush. He wants apple juice and chocolate-covered digestives and he's perfectly happy with just watching George's sleep-tired expressions from a distance. Dream's content with what he has and he won't risk that for his own dumb feelings.

"It was a mistake okay! I just can't do it. I meant it when I said it was impulsive, I was.. I was drowning in it at home." He thinks of the sweltering heat and tangled sheets, restless nights of thinking and forcing himself not to. "—I could barely think, I thought if I didn't do something I was going to fucking burst—"

"—I had a moment of weakness and I bought a one-way fucking ticket." He thinks of that night, his and George's conversation, engraved in his mind yet pushed as far away as he can get it. He wishes now he could take a hammer to it, smash it to pieces then grind those pieces to dust. The overwhelming want to just spill his guts, how just a message or Discord call hadn't felt like enough. It feels like a fever dream now, the state he was in and it lasted too long before he got any grip on himself, so long that he was already sat in an airplane seat about 33,000 miles above turning back.

"—But then I got on the plane and something clicked in my fucking head, about how bad of an idea it would be. It was too late and I couldn't do a thing." Stuck in a mistake he'd brought upon himself. "I wanted to hop on the next flight back to Orlando and pretend nothing had even happened."

Dream runs a hand through his hair, the hood falls back off his head, he doesn't bother pulling it up. Letting the rain fall and wash him of all the fear and love that seizes him. "I'm not doing it to him. I can't do it to us. I'm sticking it out because I want to see him."

He still hates himself for his own weakness. He's overwhelmingly happy to be here with George, of course. But _fuck_ he could have saved himself a lot of hurt if he'd just kept the safe distance they've always maintained. He knows he was selfish coming here, caught up in the idea that George would just see all of Dream and tell him exactly what he wants to hear. But that's not them. It's not George who is his best friend and nothing more. Not the version of George that Dream, well, dreams of.

It feels a lot of the time like Dream's wishing they weren't friends the way they are. Or as close as they are. Because they're too far into this friendship thing for it to ever be more than that. They've gone past the point of no return and George's place in Dream's life has already been set in stone. It's Dream's own fucking fault for not being content with what he already has. It's why he can't ruin this, it's why he can't allow himself these moments of weakness anymore. Something broke his resolve in Orlando and he doesn't want to think about it any more than he has to.

"You are so dumb. You are so so dumb. I hate how dumb and stupid you are."

"Aren't you to be the supportive best friend right now? Telling me I don't have to if I don't want to. What is the point in you?"

"Fuck that Dream! I'm not your conscience or guide to salvation, or– or whatever. I'm here to tell you that you are the stupidest densest motherfucker on this planet. If you think that George doesn't lo–"

Dream ends the call. Hands shaking.

This entire time Dream has been lying, to himself and George. Pretending he doesn't know why he's here. In all honesty, he thinks he regrets ever coming to England. In sticking it out instead of running back with his tail between his legs. It hurts less here, which he's glad for, where the balmy warmth can't make his head swim and his heart feel smothered. Possibly, it's just a different type of pain he's subjecting himself to in the long run. Self-flagellation for his own dumb luck and if he enjoys it before it gets too painful he supposes that just makes him some sick masochist, deriving pleasure from George's company whilst his heart aches wretchedly.

He's tending to the flames more than dampening them. He knows that Sapnap would agree with that. And somewhere down the line, the fire will take hold of his guiding hand and consume him.

George loves him, this is an undisputed fact, he might not say it often but Dream knows George loves him. It's just that somewhere along the way Dream's heart decided it was going to fuck his life over in completely new ways. So Dream's stuck, saying "I love you" but meaning something different, every time a revelation. A small tragedy.

He can't deal with Sapnap right now, that isn't where he wanted their conversation to go. Trust that idiot to key in on Dream's thought process immediately. He might not be Dream's conscience, but Sapnap has a sixth sense when it comes to _Dream Shit._

Dream's shoes squelch soggily as he walks and it feels deserved.

He'll apologise later. Dream grits his teeth. Right now he has groceries to buy.  
  
  


George was wrong about the rain, it's still ceaselessly falling. He wonders if Dream's okay. It's been a good while since he left to go to the supermarket. He's had time to shower and change and pretty much finish editing another _Minecraft, But_ and Dream has still not made a return. He shoots his friend a quick text asking if he's okay and goes back to editing a thumbnail.

Dream shows up twenty minutes later, raincoat dripping, his face pale but smiling and his hands full of bags.

"How much did you buy?" George's face is a picture of confusion when he sees him.

"I got a little carried away." Dream shoots George a flighty grin and puts the bags down, setting the wet coat on the radiator to dry off.

George feels like he's missing something.

Dream stutters around the kitchen, pulling open cupboards and drawers to investigate where things are and where they need to go. George helps by putting all of the fridge items away whilst offering directions to the right places when asked, but Dream doesn't ask much, determined to figure it out on his own.

There's something hard about the set of Dream's smile and around his eyes, George doesn't dare speak up to question it. Whatever it is, Dream will either get over it or end up telling George when he's ready, so George just waits as patient as he can for an outcome.

"Is it too early do you think? To start." Dream asks, he appears almost nervous. Like he needs to do something with his hands. His hair drips water onto the floor but he doesn't seem bothered to dry it. A distracted look has hold of his features.

"We've hardly eaten anything today, so I'm starving." George shrugs in easy agreement. Dream rolls up his sleeves and manages to offer a fairly sound smile.

After setting out the ingredients he needs and washing his hands, Dream begins.

"Want me to help with anything?"George loiters beside him, wanting to contribute but not exactly knowing what Dream wants of him.

"No, just sit down. I'm trying to show off here."

"Sit and look pretty, I can do that," George says in a rare moment of vanity. He immediately regrets it, awkward embarrassment flipping his stomach over.

Dream's smile twitches. "Exactly."

Dream cooks with actual care and precision and George is a little mesmerised by it because he was convinced he was going to spend the evening laughing at Dream almost setting the kitchen on fire. He quietly adds it to his bank of Dream knowledge and facts: _actually, sort of good at cooking._

"Is that my hoodie?" Dream blinks at the black Dream smile merch hoodie, drowning George's frame.

"You're the one who left your clothes in a convenient pile on my floor. I couldn't be arsed to find mine."

"George this is your apartment, I'm sure you could easily find it." Dream sighs.

"But this one was already out and clean. Anyway, it's not like you weren't just wearing my coat to go out in."

"True." Dream relinquishes, he goes back to paying attention to his cooking.

George opens Twitter to fill some time. He sends Dream some fanart he comes across to look at later, he knows Dream will always appreciate seeing it. Then looks at a DM from Karl with a link to one of his tweets under some girls post that demands a 'VOUCH'.

Then George scrolls aimlessly down the timeline for a while.

He sees a few tweets from some of the fans he follows and smiles at his phone, then at Dream. "They miss you."

"Who?" Dream barely glances at him.

"All of them," George waves his phone at Dream, showing a tweet in all caps stating _'I MISS DREAM'._

"I swear 'I miss Dream' must be the most tweeted term on Twitter at this point." It's sweet and though George doesn't think he'll ever get used to having as big an audience as they do, he enjoys seeing some of the nice things they say.

"We were on Karl's stream yesterday. How can they be missing me already?"

"They just miss you Dream." George shrugs.

"We'll do something for them tomorrow then, stream on your Twitch?" Dream looks up at George now, expression ten times lighter than the one he bore when he walked in the door.

George agrees easily.

He texts Sapnap quickly next, feeling bad they haven't talked to him at all today so far.

**GEORGE**   
_Did you know Dream can cook??_

**SAPNAP**   
_ig.. what he making?_

**GEORGE**   
_He's cooking us steak_

**SAPNAP**   
_he would be whipped ass bitch_

**GEORGE**   
_I'm telling him you said that._

**SAPNAP**   
_PLEASE DO :)_

"Sapnapple just called you a whipped ass bitch." George reads.

Dream doesn't laugh or even smile like George is expecting. His jaw tightens and he stares intensely down at the chopping board, there is something here that George is missing.

Dream's eyes are stormy, "Tell him to mind his own fucking business."

"You know he's only joking," George says, confused. It's very rare that Dream takes these sort of jokes seriously instead of their intended purpose.

"It's irritating when all his jokes are the exact same."

The mood in the kitchen offsets a little. Something is growing wild outside, a rumble in the howl of wind that suggests thunder.

"Is there something wrong? You've been weird since you got back from the store."

"Nothing, I'm fine. Just not feeling it I guess."

George looks carefully down at his phone.

**GEORGE**   
_Do you know what's up with Dream?_

_**SAPNAP** _   
_idk man he's just got his head up his own ass i think :/_

**SAPNAP**   
_what did he say?_

**GEORGE**   
_Just told you to mind your own business, he's in a bad mood_

**SAPNAP**   
_head=ass_

**GEORGE**   
_YUP._

The food is great in the end, but George can't help feel that something heavy is weighing over the evening, Dream is distracted and twitchy and though he'll hold a conversation, there are moments it falls flat and where they'd usually bridge the gap to another topic, Dream stalls and falls silent. George is crawling with nervous energy the entire time.

Dream is adamant on washing the dishes and George lets him, slipping to his bedroom for a moments relief from the tension. His cat lays in the centre of the unmade bed and she perks up at the sight of him. George goes over to her and she rolls onto her back, pawing at the air in his direction. Somehow she knows he needs a distraction. She chases his hand as he crawls it over the sheets, a dangerous game to play if he doesn't want to get accidentally scratched, but he's not too focused on that.

She follows his fingers with swatting paws, turning back onto her front so she can give chase as his hands slide across the bed. Eventually, she traps his hand under her paw. Unfortunately for her, humans are much stronger than cats and so George pulls his hand out from under her. He ends up with a couple nicks to his skin, but its worth it.

He almost jumps when he sees something from the corner of his eye.

Dream stands, looking half-stricken, leant into the doorframe watching George.

"Hi," George's voice catches under the intensity of Dream's gaze.

George follows the movement of Dream's throat as he swallows, "I'm sorry. For being a dick, I don't really have an excuse."

"It's okay, we all have our moments." George shrugs.

In his idleness, his cat swats his hand, leaving a lovely mark that whilst barely scratching away skin, stings immediately. "Ouch," George says softly, moving his hand away from her grasp. She settles on the bed, finished reigning terror on any more limbs.

"Are you okay?" Dream's voice is low.

"Just a scratch." George's mouth curves into a smile.

Something subtle in the set of Dream's shoulders seems to have softened. He joins George, sitting carefully on the bed. It takes George by surprise when Dream reaches out, tugs lightly at George's hand until he can see it up close. George's hands are more slender than Dream's. Not much smaller, but different all the same, Dream's grip is delicate and careful to an almost clinical degree.

"See? No real harm done." Is George's awkward response.

Dream's brows are knitted, thinking hard about something. George is unsure, but this doesn't feel like the normal amount of time you inspect someone's hand for. He waits for Dream to release him all the same.

Dream's thumb brushes against George's knuckles, a purposeful swipe, George looks up and Dream lets go.

"The steak was really good by the way." George quickly fills any growing silence.

Dream ducks his head. "I tried."

"I definitely want to try your mum's sometime."

Dream's voice breaks. "Yeah, sometime." He clears his throat. "Did you get the video done?"

"Pretty much. I wanted you to watch over it for me before I post it.."

"Of course."  
  
  


Long after George is sleeping beside him, Dream is still pointlessly awake. He feels homesick, for Patches, his own space and his mom. He wouldn't trade this time with George for the world now that he's got it. But he's sticky with dread after the conversation with Sapnap. He'd told himself in the airport that if he was going to do this he'd shove his feelings as far down as possible and just enjoy the time they have. Let things go back to normal upon his return to Orlando. Sapnap's gone and ruined that by bringing it all up and it's all Dream can think about.

He shouldn't blame Sapnap for the racing thoughts that plague him. They're his own creation.

"George?" He whispers to the night air. There's no reply, he can hear the deep flow of George's breathing that tells him he's fast asleep.

"I–" he stalls, can't get the words out when they mean something more than they're supposed to.

"I wish I could tell you everything." He sighs instead, voice soft and sincere.

The sun finally shines, in a twist that no one is expecting. Not even the MET Office apparently, who foretold of rainy showers for the rest of the week. It's like a miracle, what with the state of the weather yesterday.

Yes, George awakes to sunlight. Not the grey patter of stormy weather. A new day begins.

Instead of lazing around, such a cold weather thing, George drags himself up and out of bed. To the main room, where the living room slash kitchen glows with fresh-born sunlight. That may be a tad over the top, what with the inconsistency of British sun at the best of times. But still. George even opens a window, letting the clear morning air in.

The counters are clear apart from some fruit Dream bought yesterday, George doesn't own a fruit bowl so they now occupy their own space in the centre of the surface. Oranges sit in one of those net string bags and George pulls it apart to attain one. He takes one that fits perfect in the palm of his hand and sets about carefully peeling it. The smell of orange is fresh in the air and soaks into his fingers, where it will linger even after they've been washed. He eats a slice, savouring the taste and the morning.

Dream joins him not long after, just as he pops the second satisfying slice into his mouth. He crosses the room until he's at George's side, facing out to the open window, perhaps relishing in the sun the same way George is.

George offers him a slice and he takes it.

They share piece after piece until all that's left is the peel. Dream disposes of it, gathering it in his hands and dropping it all carefully into the bin.

No one's said a word yet and it feels hard to break the silence first when it has built up for so long.

Unexpectedly, Dream's head lolls against George's shoulder and this, this is new. George blinks through surprise and lands on acceptance. It's a new day after all, who knows what could come next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter song - dream sweet in sea major - miracle musical
> 
> "She peels an orange, separates it in perfect halves, and gives one of them to me. If I could wear it like a friendship bracelet, I would. Instead I swallow it section by section and tell myself it means even more this way. To chew and to swallow in silence with her. To taste the same thing in the same moment." - We Are Okay by Nina LaCour
> 
> EDIT: JUST REALISE I PREDICTED GEORGE WEARING DREAM'S OVERSIZED BLACK HOODIE,,,AM REELING.


	8. clueless

Somewhere, a clock hand inches forward as time continues to tick. Somewhere, but precisely the clock in George's living room hung on the wall near the door, another second passes by.

A week strolls on in snapshot glances at a clock. Not always this same clock, white and plain with black-painted metal arms. Sometimes other measuring implements are used to find out whatever time it happens to be.

Such as that sun-filled Tuesday as George glances at the time display on his microwave. The air smells like oranges, the moment remembered as saccharine sweet. The time is the earliest George has woken in a long while and the yellow-green digital numbers show a fresh 8 am. He remembers this day because of the taste of oranges that lingered in his mouth, the quiet hesitant way Dream lingered nearby. Unsure of himself, unwilling to let go of whatever had seized his mood and turned him a blue-tinged melancholy.

But George is practised in the art of cheering Dream up. So he starts subtle, this is a mission of the highest importance after all. Sitting Dream at his desk, he stands behind him. Hands on his tense shoulders.

"What are we doing?" Dream asks, head tilting all the way back, looking up at George with wide, quizzical eyes.

"Playing Minecraft."

"George," he says, not quite a whine, "I don't feel like streaming."

"We're not. This is just for us."

He watches the precise movement of Dream's stretched throat as he swallows. Adam's apple bobbing. "Oh." Dream's mouth barely opening, the reply more of a puff of air than anything.

George leaves Dream in front of his computer, drags a chair from the kitchen table and his laptop from where it has been charging on his nightstand.

"You're playing on that?" Is Dream's next question. The slightly confused judgement of someone who is not in the right mood for this, George perseveres.

"Yes."

"George, it has a trackpad."

"Remember when you played with a trackpad." George teases.

"I played my first Minecraft Monday with one." Dream smiles in memory of a time before. George wonders if he'd have even met Dream yet, without YouTube. If they were still who they were just a year ago. He thinks most likely not.

George settles into the chair, laptop balanced on his folded legs. They hop on Hypixel, quickly nicking themselves and playing a couple of games of bedwars. George loses them the first game because his keybinds are all messed up on his laptop. Dream gives him no sympathy, expressing that he should have been smart enough to do it before the game started. Like Dream did. The games continue with them sometimes fighting against each other (Dream purposefully nudging George so he falls while bridging) sometimes working together (staying close when their bed is broken so they can fight as team). If Dream can tell that George has sat him here on purpose, knowing this will improve his mood, he doesn't say anything. But his shoulders aren't tense anymore and he doesn't look quite so flighty. George counts his mission as a win.

Another snapshot memory springs fondly to mind. The time on his second monitor reads, 12:07. It's still the same day, they've been playing bedwars for four hours and George is hungry. The blissful sun persists in the back of his mind. There's food in the fridge but he wants to go outside. He tells Dream as much.

So they get changed quickly in George's bedroom, out of the casual sleeping clothes they're wearing still and into jeans, t-shirts and jackets. George has a shoe rack, just casually full of expensive trainers that Dream laughs at while putting on dirty old Nike sneakers that need to be thrown out.

They escape the flat still bickering. So familiar is the safe and easy fun of arguing over pointless shit. It's comfortable here, George thinks. He's happy with this space they've carved out for each other where they can argue and be stubborn and still stay exactly where they've always been. It makes everything, life easier knowing on some unspeakable level that Dream will always be his best friend, that they will always share this mutual agreement to share at the very least this with one another. It makes it easier that's for sure.

Dream thrives in bright sunlight and George feels accomplished.

The pavement is dry underfoot apart from where the uneven cracks in the paving stones have formed puddles. Dream steps carefully over them, not wanting to get his shoes wet.

There is no particular conversation to this moment that sticks out in George's memory. Just the warm colour this memory is bathed in. Dream brushing against him as they walk, casually close. The way the light made his eyelashes seem more blond than brown and how George could see in full detail the knick-sized scar on the bridge of Dream's nose. His hair, slightly too long and falling over his forehead, into his eyes. Just asking to be pushed away from his face.

And another thing that George has noticed — not that anyone is asking. But Dream is hard to make eye contact with sometimes. He'll get too lost in what he's saying, or get distracted. His eyes staring through you instead of at you. Like he's caught up in remembering and describing. George has concluded that Dream's brain hasn't quite connected that George can see him sometimes, that it thinks he is still masked by anonymity. Especially when he's distracted in the middle of some anecdote, his expressions and gestures doing half the storytelling on their own. It's funny and way too endearing really.

There are other times though when Dream's eye contact is full-on and he won't look away. Leaning forward in anticipation when George is the one telling the story. Dream isn't always the best listener - too eager to add a quip or make fun of some misfortune of George's. But he's present in what George has to say. It's intense under Dream's scrutiny. Unnerving to be the focus of his attention.

"What time is it?" George asks.

"Seven," Wilbur replies to him quickly. It's turning from afternoon to evening. The sky darkening considerably. George blinks and his room is in darkness when moments ago sunlight seemed to still be shining in.

"Are you guys done yet?" George groans, sitting back in the kitchen chair that he'd been relegated to when Dream told him they would be doing plot stuff on Discord today. Dream just rolls his eyes at George's question, pokes a finger at his thigh to annoy. George chases after it to slap at the retreating hand, scowling.

"Gogs, just because you're irrelevant to the plot doesn't mean we don't have shit to do," Wilbur tells him.

George disregards him, as well as the amused _"ouch"_ that Dream comes out with.

The thing is, the SMP plot hasn't stopped moving just because Dream is in London. The script is constantly progressing and needing to be planned ahead. Dream has already had to use George's set up a couple of times to go off monologuing to whoever he's being a dick to at the current moment.

"Yeah GeorgeNotFound, go sleep through another war or something," Tommy butts in. It really does feel like Bully George Day all of a sudden.

"I'm just bo-ored."

"We won't take much longer, then we can do something." Dream tells him, smiling sympathetically. The scriptwriting and brainstorming has been going on for a good two hours now and whilst the ideas have been rolling fairly well, making time go fast for Dream and the others for George, who is only half-listening, time is a much different and slower experience.

"Ooh, are we taking up your valuable time Gogmeister?" Wilbur adds in the same teasing tone he usually takes with George.

George just sighs dramatically and Dream watches him stand up, pivot across the room and flop down onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling. George goes into a bit of a daze for a while. Unblinking at the light that hits his ceiling - the eery glowing white-blue from his monitors. His eyes aren't closed so he isn't sleeping but George finds he doesn't feel quite awake either.

He jumps when a hand wraps around his ankle. Dream stands looming at the end of the bed, eyes rounded and just looking at George. He gives the joint a light squeeze.

"Hi." Dream's voice cracks with the simple greeting. He's still holding George's bare ankle, touch warm and deliberate. But slowly, he lets go and George's ankle is free again.

"Hm." Is George's reply, a returning hi coming out as a mumble.

"We finished up. Tommy had to go to bed, school night."

"Really?" George's face breaks into a slow grin.

"No. But we were all getting tired of each other anyway."

"What doing now?" Is George's loose reply. Dream sits on the bed, next to George's hip, looking down on him.

"Dunno. It's only early. We could have food, try and pretend we have a normal sleep schedule for one night. I kinda want to go exploring some more tomorrow."

"Sounds good."

"We should try cooking."

"Just want to lay here. Can't we order food?"

"You're so lazy. Get up and let's make something together. It'll be fun."

George exhales, doesn't quite move yet but knows that he will.

It's vaguely some time past one in the afternoon. Because George had checked the clock on the wall before they left his flat. At which point it was about twelve. They're walking into Camden Markets now. It's bustling and colourful, painted shopfronts advertising the niche and kitsch whilst remaining overtly touristy. They've ended up here because Dream wants to see more of London than the four walls of George's flat and the walk to the nearest supermarket.

George has left his flat more in the last few days than he usually would in a month. It's nice actually, he has a newfound appreciation for the outdoors. Most likely stemming from getting to experience it with Dream. He doesn't know where to start now that they're here. He can't pretend that he is the type of person to know all of the cool places that Dream might like. So they walk with no exact purpose just observing everything around them.

Dream spots a stall he likes the look of first, they weave past some people stood around the outside entrance. It's less of a stall and more of a tent really. A weatherproof beige-grey tarp, opening flapping slightly in the wind. Invitingly mysterious. Tucked between a stall selling handmade candles and the other second-hand books. They hesitate at the edge. Dream enters first.

Once inside it is as though all of the outside world has faded away. The sun, the noise. Even time seems to give pause here.

The room is dark despite being lit by what must be hundreds of beautiful lamps. Ornate colourful mosaic patterns - each one unique. They've been hung carefully from the supporting beam of the tarp, dangling down from the ceilings. Lamps fill up the walls, cover the surface of tables and benches and the floor. A hundred different colours, warm and delicate and bright. Alluringly breathtaking and it appears, George realises, almost like they're floating. It feels like magic.

It doesn't even feel like they are being sold anything, there's no cash desk or register, no one approaches inviting them to buy. The strangers here with them look just as in awe as George feels.

The lights are lovely, the colour rich and breathtaking. They remind George of paper lanterns, burning colours filling a night sky. The room feels giant, it feels endless, dark enough that the edges and walls of the room fade away.

"I—" Dream starts but doesn't finish. George's brown eyes move away from the lights to Dream. He's already looking and George can only watch him back, encouraging and speechless still.

They might as well be surrounded by a thousand stars, someone has captured them here. Taken right out of the night's sky just for visitors to this small, strange tent in Camden Market. For George to stand here with Dream, in complete wonder.

Dream doesn't say anything else but he leans against George. Something, Dream's fingers, brush against George's hand, moving until just their little fingers are interlinked. It is very surreal. The lights and Dream and Dream surrounded by light. George feels the sudden urge to escape. As though the air, as well as everything else, has left the room. He tugs Dream by the pinky and their hands fall apart. George leads them back onto the street.   
  


There's a vinyl store with a little red-painted door and matching red-painted window frame. Settled to the side of the market with a table set up, boxes full of records. All of it sheltered by an overhanging veranda. They seem to be mostly secondhand with ageing covers protected by plastic sleeves. Handwritten labels separate and section rock from pop from blues.

"Dream I don't own a record player, do you even own a record player?" George asks. They stand in the doorway, the bell jingled when they pushed it open.

"No." Dream smiles, he steps inside anyway. The shop is narrow, lined with rows of record boxes on either side and down the middle. It creates two tight walkways that Dream and George wouldn't fit walking down side by side. At the other end of the shop, a grey-haired older woman sits at the counter. She doesn't look much interested in their presence, continuing to read from some book. When she turns a page they can hear the bangles that decorate her arms clink together loudly.

It smells like incense and old paper. A Fleetwood Mac song plays lowly over the shop's speakers. They're connected to a record player that's spinning the vinyl. A handwritten sign stuck to the wall next to it invites people to pick something from the box of records and have a go of changing to the vinyl of their choice. Dream beelines it to the box to pick a song, flicking through efficiently. Pausing on those that catch his eye, a strange smile settled at the corners of his mouth.

"My dad used to keep one in the garage." He checks George is listening, it would be impossible not to. "He bought it when he was in college and we didn't really have space for it anywhere in the house. When I was a kid we would go out there, without my sisters and brothers and listen to his records together. He used to call our house The Madhouse - 'cos there was never a moment of peace. Especially when I was still young and my older brother was pretty young too. I think my dad liked the quiet and that I cared about something he did too. It wasn't ever about the music for me though, not really. I just wanted his attention, undivided for a moment."

He pulls out a Wings album, _At The Speed of Sound_ and passes it to George to hold. George can't say he's familiar. He watches as Dream carefully removes Fleetwood Mac's _Rumours_ A-side from the plate and return it to its sleeve. Then after George gives him the Wings album back he places it on the plate and they watch as the needle slowly lowers. The slight crackle as the well-loved vinyl starts spinning and the first notes start to play. George may not recognise the band or album but he knows this song. He hums along appreciatively as Dream whispers the words to him, sliding down the aisle, fingers running over the tops of records. His voice grows louder.

 _"Do me a favour—"_ he stops short, singing directly to George, _"—open the door and let 'em in."_ George laughs at his exaggerated eyebrow wiggles, the skip in his step as he moves, practically gliding across the worn parquet flooring.

They're back on the street whilst Paul and Linda McCartney's voices are still singing away. The bangled lady, giving them an amused little wave as she watches them leave, shakes her head and smiles down at her book when George and Dream are no longer in view.  
  


"George," Dream stops short and George walks into him, "we need to go in there. It's perfect for you!" Dream points, George turns to the object of his amused gasping. It's a clown supply shop. For like circuses or something. Brightly coloured both inside and outside. Today has been an explosion of colour and this just continues the trend.

"For you more like." George counters.

"George, you are so the bigger clown than me."

"How can I be the bigger clown when your entire existence is a joke?"

"Ouch." Dream clutches at his chest, letting himself lean back on his heels like he's falling.

"Point proven," George adds smartly.

George can't quite commit to memory when the next piece of time takes place. It had felt too early to keep his eyes open but he knows it was late in the day because they'd stayed up far too long with Sapnap fucking around on Discord and playing CS:GO with him, George and Dream swapping turns between rounds.

Anyway, George finds Dream by his bookshelf. Hardly a bookshelf, more a shelf with a few books on it. Only half full, decorated with a salt lamp from his sister that he's never bothered plugging into anything, some glassware his mum added to fill space. There's a small collection of books that include his old uni textbooks, a battered-looking set of paperback Harry Potter's, the covers peeling and cracking down the spine.

"You dog-ear your pages," Dream holds up the offending book, a copy of Interview with a Vampire that he's opened to a page with a folded over corner, "I'm actually disgusted in you."

"It hardly matters."

"You're ruining the pages." Dream sniffs.

"They're my books, I'm sure I'll survive." Dream gives him a look like its sacrilege but places the book back on the shelf.

"I told you about this one." He pulls out George's Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, it has suffered a similar fate of overturned pages. Well worn and well-loved.

"You said I might like it." George shrugs.

"So you bought it." Dream states, somewhat disbelieving.

"Obviously."

"Did you like it?"

"It was great."

"Have you read the others?"

"All of them." Dream looks slightly taken aback. George just laughs at him, helpless.

He had set an alarm to wake himself up at 6 pm so George knows the time as soon as he's awoken by his ringtone. He'd decided to nap for an hour or two until Dream and him are supposed to start up George's stream. They had decided they were going to stream Minecraft But, We Share A Keyboard instead of doing a video for it. It was easier and it felt like a way to reassure fans they are in fact alive.

"Hi chat." George is in his chair, Dream taking a turn on the kitchen chair. He's just gone live moments ago. "No face cam this stream, obvious reasons." The stream is just loaded up to show his Minecraft character in F3. He should probably get a starting soon screen so he doesn't have to do this anymore.

"WHAT!" Dream is way too loud, "No face cam? I'm unsubbing."

"Shut up," George says lightly. "Anyway chat, hello, hello. Has the notification gone out? We'll wait 'til the notification goes out to start. How are you all doing?" Chat speeds by in replies of _'HELLO', OMG YOU'RE LIVE'_ as well as exclamations of George and Dream's names.

"Let's give it a few minutes for the notification then I'll explain what we're doing today."

"It's in the title George."

"Yeah, well I'll explain it better."

"We can answer some questions quickly if you guys want? Don't worry about donoing we'll just pick some from chat if we can see them." Dream laughs, the chat is going by pretty quick.

"How is London?" Dream reads out, "It's nice here. I'm really enjoying it. Oh! I'm going to expose George guys okay so-"

" _Wait-wait-wait_. What are you going to say?"

"I'm about to tell them, just listen."

"Whisper to me first, I don't want you exposing me live on Twitch."

"No." Dream laughs. "Whisper to you? What are we in kindergarten? I'm not going to say anything bad." Dream's eyes roll.

"No! I mean– just type it out so I can see first."

"George, what do you honestly think I could say that is that terrible?"

"I don't know you might make something up."

Dream sighs and pulls out his phone, quickly typing something out.

"Oh yeah, whatever."

"George. You are so annoying, you just made me go through all that and honestly it isn't even that interesting. Guys, George is just like— purposefully obtuse about everything."

"Obtuse," George repeats, nose scrunching up.

"See, you just prove my point! I was only going to say that George is like an old man chat. I know it's like a joke that he sleeps all the time but he genuinely had a nap before we started streaming."

"It was– we went to bed _so_ late last night. I'm still tired." George groans.

"Pffff—" Dream lets the noise leave his mouth, eyebrows shooting to his hairline as laughter bursts out of him.

"Not like that! Not like that oh my god!" George laughs in embarrassment, putting a hand to his face. "Dream! Now chats going to spam..." He sighs.

"I'm sorry. Why did you phrase it like that? No chat. We were on-" His speech breaks into laughter, "Chat we were on Discord with Sapnap until like 6 am GMT."

"I think the notification has gone out." George moves on quickly. "So, hello everyone! We're doing a challenge today. Another beating Minecraft But."

"We're sharing a keyboard."

"I'm in the middle of explaining nimrod." George tilts his head at Dream.

"What needs explaining?"

"Just let me explain and stop interrupting."

"Okay." Dream grins wolfishly, falling silent to let George continue.

"So we're not really sharing a keyboard exactly."

"At all." Dream adds, he can't help it.

George huffs but keeps going, "I'm doing keyboard and Dream is going to be controlling the mouse. So it's going to be like Dream's two people control one player challenge but less scuffed. Dream's actually sat next to me now."

"We didn't have to code a single thing."

"No face cam guys." George reminds the chat, directed at newcomers who missed his earlier statement.

"Unless?"

"Dream face revealing on my stream question mark?" George smiles.

"Noo," Dream is chuckling, "Not today at least."

"You're right, your hair is a mess today. Wouldn't want that to be your first impression, yikes."

"Why are you so—? You're so mean to me George. I don't say anything when your hair looks like shit. Like right now."

"My hair is fine." George runs his hand through it nervously, despite himself.

Dream moves suddenly, hand coming up and ruffling George's hair. "Not anymore!"

"Dream!" George swiftly moves out of his reach, nearly falling out of his chair. "Chat I'm being abused right now, Dream just ruined my hair."

"It's not like they can see it."

"Unless I turn my face cam on, then they would see what you've done."

"You wouldn't." Dream's eyes narrow.

George's eyes widen in realisation, an evil grin forming on his face. "Stop being annoying or I'll turn my camera on and everyone will see you."

"You would not George."

"Try me."

They stare at each other for a long beat, challenge in George's eyes. 

"Fine. Let's just play the dumb game." Dream acquiesces.

Grinning in victory, George resets the day cycle on the single-player world to zero and they begin. It's easier than expected, apart from Dream forgetting sometimes that he needs to click or taking too long to turn around. Most of the time it's on purpose but feigning innocence when George tries to call him out. They end up streaming for much longer than George initially planned for, almost four hours of pissing about and talking to each other and chat. They blame it on each other messing it up and dying and then having to restart with nothing. But it feels like an excuse just so they can stay on stream a while longer.

"How long are you staying?" Karl asks - they're in one of the many 'We Have Sex' group calls with him, Sapnap, George and Dream. Quackity isn't present at the moment, but will no doubt show up at some point. George knows it's 1 am because he's currently scrolling through his phone whilst they chill. No one is streaming and so the atmosphere is pretty laidback, occasionally a round of laughter at something funny will break out and the energy will pick up again. George glances at Dream, looking for his response to the question.

"I don't know. I said before that I'll stay as long as George will have me." He shoots George a quick smile. "I'm pretty sure he'll get tired of sharing a bed with me eventually."

"What?" Karl says evenly.

George hears Sapnap snort, chair creak as he leans forward in interest. "Oh, you don't know."

Dream laughs nervously, "We're sharing a bed, yeah.."

"You guys are sharing a bed. Is this a sleepover? Are you guys like twelve-year-old girls? What is this?"

"Shut up. George didn't tell me he doesn't have a spare room."

" _Dream_ didn't bother to ask before coming to London unannounced and didn't book a hotel."

"Couldn't you book one know?" They hear Karl's rolling giggles of confusion.

Dream blinks at George. "I could if George wanted me to."

"Not bothered, you've spent enough time in my bed already." George shrugs.

"Oh, I _so_ wish someone was recording this conversation right now. Holy shit. Hello?" Karl cackles, clearly going insane at the information.

"Anyway. I don't know, I can't exactly stay here forever. But we're not rushing or anything. Probably another week or two. I can book a flight whenever and George can have his bed back to himself."

"This is amazing." Karl giggles, clearly still caught on the last thread.

There's this unspeakable notion that sits in George's head that time is passing all around him. That something is constantly slipping away and he is powerless against it. He thinks of it like this, if Dream left tomorrow George it would feel like he'd missed something, a cosmic cue. Dream has already been here for a week and George wants to keep track of every minute until he has to go. He doesn't really want to think about the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter song is clueless - the marías. bonus chapter song is let 'em in - wings :)
> 
> I love Wings At The Speed of Sound. A big soft spot for that album especially played on vinyl. So that moment was very inspired <3
> 
> The places in Camden are unspecific and slightly altered versions of actual places you can visit. Such as the clown/circus supply store Oddballs and Turkish De-Light which is actually a shop and not a stall, but stalls are much more whimsical to me idk. The record shop is pretty much an amalgamation of all the ones in Camden lmao. 
> 
> I was also so tempted to include a part where they go to the Vagina Museum that's in Camden, but felt like that might be Too Much for everyone...
> 
> In the future, I want to continue to try and include different forms, like the Dream's Guide to London chapter! Though it won't be the same format as that. Most likely it will happen next chapter as I've already written most of it out :)


	9. ode to a conversation stuck in your throat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick fyi, you don't need to know anything about the dream smp plot to read the first part of this chapter. tw for mild violence for the same part.

  
THE DREAM SMP  
 _'WHAT REMAINS ARC'  
_ CHAPTER 2 - THE DREAM TEAM

 _EXT. _This scene is set on a sandy beach at the base of white crumbling cliffs. At the edge of the world or beyond it perhaps. The salty air is fresh, cooling to breathe in and out. Beyond the sand, the sea is a stormy grey but there are no crashing waves or churning tides, no, this water is almost still in its motion.

The sky is a pale-grey-probably-blue, it's not quite sunset yet and so colours he's only ever heard of (red-pink-orange), barely brush against the horizon where the sky meets the sea. There's an almost stillness to the air, like the water. As though Mother Nature herself has stopped everything around him. Dream-like and unreal, delicately fragile.

 _Enter_ GEORGE. Our Everyman.

The only indication that time is passing at all is the whisper of a breeze he feels against his cheeks and across his forehead as his hair tickles it in the gentle flow.

The first thing George realises about himself is that he isn't wearing his armour. But he doesn't panic. For once, the heart-racing dread that usually appears is nowhere to be found. No, here on this beach with nothing but the sea, the sky and Dream, he doesn't feel worried at all.

_Dream._

He's turned away from George, stood with his bare feet in the shallow depths of the shore, letting the tide wash over his ankles. There is a lack of the usual ribbon in his hair. His mask isn't on. It's not like he hasn't worn it before in George's presence, it's just a rare occurrence. George supposes this is just like armour, it protects him from many things.

This mask he wears for control. Control over his expression means his enemies can't tell what he's thinking. It means he'll always have the upper hand, doesn't have to worry about his emotions betraying him. It's not information George came by easy, he's pretty sure the L'Manbergians think it's some sort of scare tactic, what with the creepy smile crudely drawn onto the surface. No, the truth and trust of the man behind the mask is something George has had to earn.

There was a time when he thought he'd never see the face behind the mask again. A time when they were divided. When the cracks between them seemed irreparable. But now, somehow, they're back together. George doesn't dwell too much on how they got here.

 _GEORGE:_ Dream? _(Voice cracking, softer than intended.)_

The man without the mask turns to him, backlit by sunlight, it makes him fuzzy around the edges. He's relaxed and he's— smiling. Warmth catches in George's chest. It's been so long since Dream smiled like that.

 _DREAM:_ Let's stay here forever.

Yes, George thinks. He doesn't think he could ever leave this place, not with the view of this sand and sea and the warm peace that fills him.

He feels like he's supposed to be doing something though. George glances for a moment up the beach, towards the cliffs.

 _GEORGE:_ Dream, how did we get here?

Because he can't for the life of him remember the path they took to the beach, or where he must have taken off his armour before joining Dream on the shoreline. There is no sign of it piled up in the nearby sand. No sign of Dream's either.

 _DREAM:_ It doesn't matter. We're here now. Come with me. _(Dream's hand beckons him, his palm open, outstretched.)_

 _GEORGE:_ But what about— _(George falters.)_

He glances to the cliffs, then back at Dream. Eyes warm and full of light. Dream laughs, care-free. It's a sound George feels like he's been waiting to hear all his life.

 _DREAM:_ Stay here with me.

His fingers fall open more, moving toward George and taking first his wrist, then letting his calloused hand slide until they are held together. Palm to palm.

 _DREAM:_ Stay. _(His voice is barely a whisper, so quiet it may have just been the way the sea breeze has fallen against George's ears.)_

George doesn't have to say anything, he knows he couldn't go anywhere without Dream by his side.

With a splitting pop-crack, George jerks awake.  
  


 _EXT._ The fire crackles in front of him, the surrounding cave is silent and illuminated only by the bright glow of the fire, it sends creeping shadows curling up the cave walls. George's limbs are stiff and tense, His metal chestplate digs into his hips and his left arm is numb from sleeping on his side. Sapnap shivers across from him, so close to the sad pile of flame that he's in danger of setting himself ablaze.

He gives George a questioning, worried look.

 _GEORGE:_ Just a bad dream. _(George swallows the dryness in his throat.)_

Sapnap seizes a little at his wording.

 _GEORGE: (quickly.)_ Nightmare.

How did they get here? A time where even saying hisname makes them tense and anxious. George yearns for the beach, he flexes his fingers, then lets the tension leak way. Shoving the emotion sitting in his throat down with a gritty swallow. There is no use dwelling on something, someone they'll never see again.

Not in the same way as on that beach.  
  
  


 _EXT._ There is nothing of note to where this fight takes place. Barely a fight, more of a standoff. They're hundreds of chunks away from home, returning in that direction. An open field, unburdened by destruction, though maybe headed towards a taste of it. This is just the backdrop to the action.

The torrential downpour darkening the sky makes George's boots sink into the mud of the hill he stands on. He wears iron armour, it doesn't shine like his old netherite. Long lost to destruction and death. These are old pieces, from the early days, stored away and forgotten. Scavenged from others.

George watches with bated breath from the hillside as Sapnap approaches first. Dream's got his mask over his face and a long, deep green cloak over his head and shoulders, partially covering the dark, black-purple of his shining netherite armour. He has appeared almost out of nowhere, obstructing their path, a dark phantom stood waiting in the shadows and the cold. What this means, they do not yet know. Only that they're not prepared for this sort of fight. George's iron is nothing in comparison. Sapnap approaches in diamond and still, this will not be enough.

The bow in George's hand is tense by his side as he watches them face-off. From his safe distance, he waits as Sapnap and Dream circle one another.

It will not be a fair fight. Not like all those times they practised in the plains by their little ramshackle home on the lake. Those that were just for fun. There is nothing fun about the angry set of Sapnap's jaw, the tension as George stands bow in hand but not yet striking.

The rain is not easy, it is punishing and it burns as it strikes skin, puddles as it saturates the ground, running down the hillside and pooling at the bottom once it reaches flatter land.

Sapnap strikes first - impatient to start as he's always been, wanting to win. Wanting nothing more than for this all to be over with. The axe swing hits Dream's shield with a thud, drawing back quickly, Sapnap's own shield raising warily. Dream drops his to the wet ground and there is clear challenge in the tilt of his chin. Telling them he can win without it. Sapnap grips the axe with both hands and wields it forcefully, making cutting jabs, Dream slips away from most of his strikes. A lucky hit lands on a netherite shoulder piece, slashing the green fabric of Dream's cloak - but he doesn't even falter, simply returns the hit with grace and well-practised ease.

There is a grim, unwanted satisfaction when George sees Dream finally stumble, where he thinks for a moment there is a glimpse of His Dream in the slight hesitation of his movement. It makes even Sapnap pause, axe lowering from its sure swing.

George's breath catches. Dream moves quickly, quicker than George can draw back his bow. He strikes Sapnap hard and brutal on the head, sends him stumbling back with an awful crunch of metal, his helmet has broken into shattered pieces, falling away to the wet muddy ground. Sapnap falls and Dream marches forwards.

George lets an arrow fly. It sinks into the ground next to Dream's foot. Makes him stop, look up and squint at where George is perched. George readies his bow again. Dream knows that this was just a warning shot. Sapnap crawls to his feet and George sighs in relief, it was enough time.

George doesn't know what he'd do if he had to shoot. If he even could let a fatal arrow fly, sink into the space between Dream's chestplate and mask, to the soft skin of his throat, where it would surely kill him in a moment.

Sapnap is relentless now, every strike personal. Because he knows. He knows as George knows. This isn't the Dream they once knew. George uses the time to make his way closer. Uncertain feet on uncertain ground stumbling and sliding until he's close to the two of them. Can hear the roar in Sapnap's chest, the clash of metal.

There is no noise to Dream's movements, he barely seems to breathe, even his armour absorbs the sound of Sapnap's diamond axe swings. They're certainly outmatched. And Sapnap can't keep fighting him like this.

Inevitably, Sapnap stumbles on the wet ground and falls backwards again. George doesn't even realise he has propelled himself forwards until his sword is in his hand, brazenly protective of Sapnap's prone form.

 _GEORGE: (breathless, urgent.)_ Don't you dare.

 _DREAM:_ Or what George? Think you can take me? _(He adjusts his weight, axe swinging idly in his gloved hands.)_

George scowls.

 _DREAM:_ How many duels did you win? Back then, just the ones I let you?

 _GEORGE: (snapping.)_ Shut up. I don't want to talk about then.

 _DREAM: (he takes a single step closer.)_ Don't you miss it? Don't you miss us? I'd still let you come with me if you want. Because I miss you George, I miss both of you.

George has to swallow hard.

 _GEORGE:_ Shut up. _(he hisses, voice shaking. So is the sword in his hand.)_

 _DREAM: (in that old softness George remembers.)_ George... come on now.

 _GEORGE:_ I hate you. I will never stop hating you for what you've done.

He's thinking of Tommy and Tubbo, Ranboo, L'Manberg, his throne. Of soft whispers in the night, _"it's for you George, it's all for you."_

Lies.

All of it.

He shakes now, with rage.

 _DREAM:_ You don't hate me, not really.

George hears Sapnap shuffling then mutter his name, quiet and uncertain. He glances back at his friend and there is blood pouring down his temple, collecting in his hairline. Dark ugly red, a colour the two of them have seen far too much of. Sapnap looks exhausted, he has been for a long time.

George looks back to Dream, his lip curling. He hates that stupid mask, hates what it hides, what it shows. What it means now.

They can't win this fight today, not without the others.

 _GEORGE: (strength growing in his voice.)_ I would kill you if I could. I would fucking kill you Dream. _(Then, after a beat)_ You're already dead to me anyway.

 _DREAM:_ George..

The rain swallows his name. Good. Because George doesn't want to hear it.

 _SAPNAP: (unwavering.)_ Leave Dream, you don't gain anything from this.

 _DREAM:_ Oh, I don't know about that.

 _SAPNAP:_ You might beat us, but you can't kill us today, it doesn't mean enough.

He's right. Dream's too much of a dramatic piece of shit to let George and Sapnap die in some meaningless place, far from the others. Where the impact of their deaths won't mean enough. Sapnap may not see the entire board, but he's aware George and he are two of Dream's most precious pawns. This isn't a move Dream would ever make.

 _DREAM:_ You're right. I'll see you soon enough. Take care of each other, for me.

 _SAPNAP:_ I'll kill you one day. I will fucking end you Dream.

 _DREAM:_ We'll see.

Dream's tattered cloak billows around him as he walks away.

George could raise his bow and aim, right at the back of him. But he knows a little about chess too and this retreat is strategic. They'll take Dream soon enough. They've planned as much for that.

_**EXEUNT.  
  
  
** _

"When did you write this?" George blinks, looking up from the screen of his laptop, dazed and surprised.

"I got inspired a little, I know we never write formal scripts but..." Dream rubs at his neck, he's got red heat rising up it. Looking embarrassed under scrutiny.

"Dream, this is so.." George trails off looking for the words and avoiding the one he usually lands on.

Dream's face manages to grow into a smile, goofy and unrestrained. He lets his head fall back. "Pog? George, please. You're killing me."

"I wasn't going to say that! But whatever, it is!" George insists. Then, growing serious. "I really liked it. You... you wrote it from my point of view?" He's confused and extremely flattered, Dream looks away from his gaze, set on some fixed point to the left of George's head.

"I don't know." Dream shrugs, face red, "I was thinking a lot about your character and mine. How I betrayed you and Sapnap. We've never really explored how much that must have hurt. We were best friends and I took your throne, I used you. I know you're shit at roleplaying. But your character could be so cool and interesting George! Especially in the new arc we're planning."

"I'm not that bad." George retorts. Though he's thinking about the careful deliberation of Dream's writing. He's stuck on it actually. The choice Dream made to write something so personal for George's character and maybe for George too. He wants to reread it, fingers itching to scroll back to the top of the word document and absorb everything.

"George, you're bad. But it's okay, we all have our flaws."

He throws a pillow in Dream's dumb face.

"Hey!" Dream admonishes.

"Whatever. I don't even like roleplaying."

"I know. You would if you tried." There isn't another pillow in reach that George can throw.

"I think you should show the others," George says in reference to Tommy, Wilbur, Techno - whoever else is currently involved with writing the script.

George finds there is a selfish part of him that wants to keep Dream's writing to himself. Another wants everyone to see just how much Dream can do, how far he can take this story.

"I don't know. It's not like the usual format we write shit in and it's not like you can really convert it to Minecraft. With like the dream sequence and all that."

"Yeah, but it's good!"

Dream shrugs, his gaze moving across the room. "I think I might like to do that one day, be a screenwriter."

"That would suit you," George tells him.

Dream looks extremely pleased.

"Don't let this go to your head."

"What go to my head?"

"Me complimenting you."

"Already has." Dream gives him a sugar-sweet grin. George is going to get cavities if he sees any more of them.  
  
  


GEORGE  
 _'REVELATIONS ARC'  
_ CHAPTER 9 - ODE TO A CONVERSATION STUCK IN YOUR THROAT

 _INT._ Late at night or early morning, with the curtains drawn the room is so dark that it's uncertain which is more accurate. George's bedroom is quiet, two figures lie in the bed. One sleeps peacefully, this is Dream, spread carelessly over his half of the bed.

The other man, George, lies awake. Sleep hasn't come so easy for him.

He can't stop thinking about Dream's script. He should be sleeping right now but he's been thinking a lot lately, so much that his brain hurts. And this creeping claustrophobic feeling surrounds him. Nothing is making sense like it did before Dream came to London. He honestly feels as though his common sense has gone out the window. He needs space to think, to get his thoughts in order.

He gets out of bed carefully, doesn't bother checking the time. Mindful of creaky floorboards as he crosses his room to the door. The thing about George's flat is that there isn't enough space to breathe. You're either in one room or the other and that isn't a far enough distance.  
  


 _INT._ The living room-kitchen. The air is palpably still, eerie like all places get at night. Light is coming in through the windows, but it doesn't offer much more than a pale illumination that casts gaunt shadows across the room.

Grabbing a blanket, George wraps it around his shoulders. Moving not to the comfort of the couch but instead to the kitchen. He sits on the countertop in front of the window. The light that's coming in makes him look pale and tired. He searches the street and the sky. London light pollution means there are no stars to gaze fondly at, just contrails and clouds.

George is trying to rationalise. It feels like an excuse at this point to say _I'm not used to you yet_ to the best friend who has been with him for over a week now. Dream is real, Dream is too real. Just thinking about how real and present he is, is overwhelming.

There is something here. There is something here sitting in his ribcage.

The air in his lungs is loud as he exhales, he rests his head on his knees, wraps his arms around himself and watches nothing with half-lidded eyes for a good long time.

 _DREAM: (voice low)_ George?

He looks up and over at Dream in the doorway. One foot in, one foot out of the room. Hesitating on the edges. Dream looks barely awake. As though he's using the doorframe to keep himself upright. George feels like he has been caught doing something he shouldn't be. Even though this is his kitchen, in his flat.

Of course. George thinks, of course, Dream would wake up when he wants to internally monologue alone for a minute. George untucks his curled up position, lets his legs hang off the counter, leans back on his arms to support himself. The blanket slips off one of his shoulders, exposing him to cold air that raises goosebumps against the bare skin above his collar.

 _GEORGE:_ Why are you up?

 _DREAM:_ You weren't there. _(He replies like that's an answer for why he awoke in the first place._ _)_

 _DREAM: (cont.)_ Why're you?

 _GEORGE:_ I uh— wanted a glass of water? _(It comes out as a question.)_

Dream blinks at him, clearly unbelieving.

 _DREAM:_ You're sat on the counter.

 _GEORGE:_ I know.

He hums thoughtfully, crossing the room to the kitchen. Standing against the counter next to George. Body turned to look at him, Dream's eyes are round and shining, earnestness on his features that is reserved solely for quiet moments like these. He moves carefully in front of George, gathers the blanket from around him and pulls it until its properly in place, adjusting until it's settled where it should be on George's shoulders. His eyes move freely across George's face.

George needs something to say. Suddenly desperate to fill the silence.

 _GEORGE:_ _—_ Your writing, it reminded me of a dream I had the other night. _(he blurts out, surprising even himself.)_

 _DREAM:_ Oh?

Then:

 _DREAM:_ You don't usually remember your dreams.

Dream gives him a questioning look. The thing is, George can't remember when he told Dream that. He finds himself surprised that Dream has recollected it.

 _GEORGE:_ I know, I did this one though.

 _DREAM:_ What happened in it?

 _GEORGE:_ Nothing. You were there, in your mask with armour and an axe. That's what reminded me really - how you described yourself in the script. It was similar to what I dreamed of I guess.

It's odd now that George thinks about it, he's unsure how or why his brain even painted a picture of Dream in that way. He knows the real Dream, so why would his mind need to substitute it for some masked version? Probably, George has just seen so much fanart that his brain took those images and ran with it.

 _GEORGE:_ Then you were reaching out to me.

 _DREAM:_ Reaching out?

 _GEORGE:_ For me to take your hand.

 _DREAM:_ _(Dream stills.)_ Did you? Take it?

George is higher than Dream sat here, he notices, can see the way Dream's hair has been flattened against his pillow while he was sleeping.

 _GEORGE:_ Yeah, I did.

Dream is looking up at him, eyes honeyed and searching.

 _DREAM: (whispering.)_ What happened next?

 _GEORGE:_ That's it really. We were falling through this empty space together, then it ended.

 _DREAM:_ Strange.

Dream frowns and the searching look slips carefully away. _A beat_.

 _DREAM: (gesturing to the sink, awkwardly.)_ Um, did you want water?

 _GEORGE:_ Oh, yeah if you're—?

 _DREAM:_ Sure. _(He shrugs, no big deal.)_

Dreammoves to the cupboard and grabs two glasses, then to the sink where he fills them.

Something is unravelling slowly, like a thread caught on a hangnail being pulled. George just needs to take it between his fingers and tug. Let the whole line of stitches comes loose. Dream hands him a glass full of cold water then stands back where he was before.

 _DREAM:_ I've been thinking,

DREAM: _(cont.)_ I want to stay here for another couple of weeks, at least two. There are things I need to do at home that I'm definitely putting off. But, I don't know, I don't feel ready to leave yet. Is that okay?

The words fall from his lips and he watches George's reaction uncertainly.

 _GEORGE:_ T-that's fine. When did you decide this?

George puts the glass of water on the counter, untouched. Rubs his warm hands against his thighs.

 _DREAM:_ Only just, my mom's been asking when I'm coming back, so I'll probably have to book a flight at some point so she chills out a little. I think she's got it into her head that I'm not coming back at all. And I know I need to go back sometime, right? Things have to go back to normal eventually. I don't want to overstay my welcome, I've taken up your space for long enough.

No, George thinks. You could stay here forever. You can stay. Just stay.

And then George thinks, _oh_.

He's tugged on a loose thread and now he's falling apart at the seams. George thinks he knows what's happening here.

 _DREAM:_ George?

He's choking to find any available words, it feels like a heartbeat and an inhale tripping over each other as he tries to speak.

 _DREAM:_ You're sure it's okay?

 _GEORGE:_ It's your decision, of course.

 _DREAM:_ Well, it's yours too. This is your apartment, your space. But good, I'm really glad.

He gives George one of his big perfect smiles. And there's the dimple making an appearance and the slight creases by his eyes when his whole face lights up.

Dream hasn't drunk any of his water either. The glass sits next to George's on the counter. Silence floods the air, Dream is looking at George and that's just it.

 _Oh no,_ he thinks. _What do I do with all of this? Where do I put it and how do I get rid of it?_ There's no room to panic, no room to breathe and wrap his head the fact that he—

DREAM: You okay there?

George is pulled back to the kitchen. The tap drips (he'd almost forgotten about the leaky splash noise it makes) the air is still and Dream stands next to him.

 _GEORGE:_ Yes. _(It's a lie, George is not okay there.)_

 _DREAM:_ What's going on with you?

He moves closer, no longer leaning against the counter, almost completely in George's space, not yet understanding the perilous tread of this conversation.

 _GEORGE:_ Me?

 _DREAM:_ Yes George, with you.

 _GEORGE:_ Nothing's going on with me.

 _DREAM:_ There's definitely something wrong.

There's a shift here. And it's that growing feeling of being tired and frustrated and then someone says the wrong thing or just too much and it sets you off. It's no one's fault, it just happens. George is tired and frustrated.

 _GEORGE:_ Well there isn't, so.. _(He won't, can't, look at Dream.)_

It's unavoidable, Dream is all that fills his vision. George is sick of sitting here, he needs to stand or just move away from the kitchen. He thinks of orange slices and hugs in the middle of the night and suddenly this is no safe space at all.

 _DREAM:_ George, you're such a bad liar. It's written all over your face.

 _GEORGE:_ There's nothing written on my face, so. You're clearly seeing things. You should go back to sleep or something.

 _DREAM:_ You're proving my point. Just tell me.

The thing is, Dream just doesn't know when to stop. It's the same reason he impulse bought a plane ticket to England. It's the Too Much gene. He doesn't think sometimes before he speaks or before he acts. He just has to keep on pushing and he knows which of George's buttons to push.

 _GEORGE:_ Please shut up Dream, just leave it.

 _DREAM_ : I'm not going to leave it. You're the one being weird sat on your kitchen counter at God Knows what time in the morning.

 _GEORGE:_ I might just like sitting on kitchen counters. You don't know me.

 _DREAM:_ I know you, George.

A beat.

 _DREAM:_ You can't play dumb with me.

 _GEORGE:_ Don't be a dick, not everything has to involve you.

 _GEORGE:_ _(cont.)_ You don't know everything about me Dream.

 _DREAM:_ I know enough.

 _GEORGE:_ Will you please shut up. Just shut up okay.

George stands quickly, feet planted firmly on the ground, the change in perspectives does nothing for his panic. Dream's as close as ever and his head is tilted down now, just so.

 _DREAM:_ _(voice quiet.)_ If I shut up will you tell me?

 _GEORGE:_ God, you're so— Why do you—?

 _DREAM:_ What?

George says nothing, Dream softens.

 _DREAM:_ Look, George. You're my best friend. Whatever it is, you can trust me with it okay?

It's so funny, how quickly your perspective can change. How quick a realisation really is. Though George thinks that this realisation has been a long time coming. This has been right under his nose the entire time and he's only just realised it. He feels embarrassed and it doesn't even make sense because it's not like Dream knows anything. He fucking hopes he's not that much of an open book. There's a worried expression on Dream's face and that hurts. Knowing that he's the cause of it.

George needs to go somewhere, he hasn't even had a chance to process and Dream is right there and George wants to scream or cry or just sort of let himself deflate and get the fact that this is happening to him through his head. This is his fucking flat but he feels out of place. There's nowhere to hide here.

 _GEORGE:_ I— um. I'll. One minute. I've got— um.

He flails over words, trips over his own feet as he tugs his body out of the door, hyperaware of every muscle in his body.  
  


 _INT._ He's standing in the hallway outside his flat and feeling unsteady. Somewhere along the way, he's lost his blanket.

This is a definite overreaction, he recognises. Yet it does not stop the panic from overtaking him. George just needs a minute to think without Dream being right next to him.

This is stupid. The hallway is freezing cold and his head feels no clearer. His feet are bare and the old wood offers no reward for being stood on for so long. He barely hears the door reopen, in fact, George's full-body flinches at the sound of his own name coming out of Dream's mouth.

 _DREAM:_ George, what the hell?

He probably thinks that George has lost the plot - which George definitely has.

 _GEORGE:_ Dream, I—

George swallows, he can barely speak over the tightness in his throat.

Dream's look is searching, eyes full of concern and worry. He steps forward, not touching George but close enough they could brush against each other if George let himself sway forwards like he wants to. George really can't handle it. Fuck. What the fuck?

 _DREAM:_ I'm sorry If I've done something. Please, George?

His voice is pitched up - like the more Dream recognises the panic in George's eyes the more panicked he gets himself.

 _GEORGE:_ Can you just. I just need you to give me a minute. Please. Or—

— _Or I'm going to tell you I love you. That I'm in love you. And I barely even know what that means yet._

— _Or I'm going to kiss you. This is the first time I've even thought about kissing you._

And if that doesn't wreck George's brain enough. He's fairly certain he must make some sort of noise because Dream's looking at him with soft blinking concern and his hand lands on George's bicep, grip light but urgent and it's too much for any man to handle.

 _DREAM:_ George?

 _GEORGE:_ Please, I'm fine. Just go back inside.

 _DREAM:_ You're not fine. You're not. Stop pretending, it's just me.

 _GEORGE:_ I know that.

 _DREAM:_ There's clearly something wrong. Tell me and we can fix it. _(He laughs nervously)_

This is exactly what George didn't want to happen. He needs to chill out otherwise Dream's just going to grow more suspicious and then he won't leave George alone till he's given in.

 _GEORGE:_ You're—

 _—You're just too much_. George exhales slowly, careful of the heart that's currently in his mouth.

Someone on the floor below them is coming in or going out, they hear the door open then close, a gust of cold air following after.

 _DREAM:_ Just come back inside, please. It's fucking cold as hell.

There's a sadness in his eyes now, like a fucking kicked puppy and it makes George feel miserable. He needs to figure this out before he does something stupid.

George doesn't want this to happen. He acquiesces. Dream pulls open the door and lets George slip past him. They're back in the living room. George goes and stands on the rug, sees he'd dropped the blanket on the floor between the couch and the kitchen counter.

 _DREAM:_ If this is about me staying for so long, I can go earlier if you want, I get it. I'm not going to be upset if you want me to go, I think we're better than that.

It's so easy to say yes. Because how else can George lie his way out of this one? Dream has offered the perfect excuse. It feels like self-destruct, Dream offers him the button but he's the one that presses it.

 _GEORGE:_ Yeah, it's— it's too much I think.

 _DREAM:_ Like what you said before? Is it— am I still too much?

George can't stand it, he wants to reach out, take Dream's sad face in his hands and make it better.

 _GEORGE:_ Yes.

His mouth feels full of sand, weighed down by it.

 _DREAM:_ _(his smile is stoic, George's heart is aching.)_ I've not exactly given you much space to get used to me, have I?

 _It's not that. I don't want space. It's not space I want between us_ , George thinks.

 _GEORGE:_ Sometimes, still, it feels like I'm being consumed.

 _DREAM:_ I want to help, if leaving early helps, I can do that.

There's a sadness in his eyes now, like a fucking kicked puppy and it makes George feel miserable.

 _GEORGE:_ Okay.

There's something here. There's too much of it.

He wants to laugh at himself. How was he so dumb? How did he ever think it was just the unsettled feeling of not being used to Dream yet? Of just needing to learn how to be friends in a new way. George really thought he just needed time to settle into what had always been.

But this thing, burning white-hot in his chest demands something of him he wasn't expecting.

The difference between I love you and I'm in love with you.

What the fuck is he supposed to do with this?

_**EXEUNT.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter song: ode to a conversation stuck in your throat - del water gap  
> honorary chapter song is: as the world caves in - matt maltese  
> oh man oh boy. huh. this is a real predicament, what the heck.


	10. short and sweet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for suggested nsfw. nothing explicit.

**NOTES**   
_[A process of figuring things out, from the beginning. Found in the notes app on Dream's phone.]_

> ↳ next videos: Minecraft But It Rains Mobs, something something give friends money?? (working title), Minecraft But Blocks Attack You.

> ↳ Build social media presence: more streams, tweet more. u know the score

> ↳ vid working titles:  
>  Giving My Friends $$$ To Spend On Amazon  
>  Giving George $5000 To Spend On Amazon - more direct = more clickable. Also George in title :)

> ↳ " _She say it's in poor taste, she don't know the fuckin' story_  
>  _You can't do nothin' for me but fuckin' ignore me_  
>  _My mind's already cloudy, but fuck it, it's stormy_  
>  _They say cheaters never prosper, shit, come and inform me_  
>  _I'm tryna' do my own thing, guess I'm stuck with this glory_  
>  _Tryna' do the right thing, but fuck it, that's corny_  
>  _I see you all in my oxygen, respiratory_  
>  _But like, you were like a toxin, hallucinatory_  
>  _You wishin' that I never would have found out_  
>  _So, let me tell you, comin' from a SoundCloud_  
>  _Everybody know me around town_  
>  _Hear my name from all directions, that's surround sound"_  
>    
>  idk feeling this today. Why does Quadeca always know how I'm feeling?

> ↳ Times we've got George to swear on stream. First to 5 wins £500  
>  Sapnap - 1   
>  Me - 2

> ↳ Fuck

> ↳ This had better be some fucking passing crush. This had better be my brain's misguided attempt at a joke. I'm beginning to think my existence is a joke.

> ↳ Minecraft Unsolved Ideas: Minecraft lore? - discs, ruins, shipwrecks. What happened to the world before the player came? Herobrine. Minecraft world is infinite (insert flat earth theory jokes here).

> ↳ Went to the mall today and saw your dumb clout goggles. There's no escaping you is there?

> ↳ Listen i mean, i've never thought much about sexuality before. Pretty determined on being straight and happy to be labelled that. Without a doubt I like women and there's never been a guy I've really thought about being attracted to before you. Then four years out of the blue of friendship and i realise i want you. Still trying to get used to this shit.

> ↳So far, I don't think you've noticed anything different. Which is a good thing. It's not like i want you to notice. I don't think I'm acting any different to usual, right?

> ↳ Shit. When you laugh like that it makes my heart stop for a minute.

> ↳ GROCERIES DUMBASS. BUY THEM: Gatorade, bread, Hot Pockets, Doritos, shaving foam, and healthy stuff too whatever that means because apparently _"You can't live off of takeout and chips forever Clay."_

> ↳ If we ever met in real life I wouldn't know what to do with myself. I want to kiss you sometimes, I want to do more than that and that fucking scares me so bad. I don't think I'll ever get used to this feeling.

> ↳ _"You gave me something_  
>  _I understand_  
>  _You gave me loving in the palm of my hand_  
>  _I can't tell you how I feel_  
>  _My heart is like a wheel_  
>  _Let me roll it_  
>  _Let me roll it to you_  
>  _Let me roll it_  
>  _Let me roll it to you_  
>  _I want to tell you_  
>  _And now's the time_  
>  _I want to tell you that you're going to be mine"_
> 
> Dad, I'm blaming this one on you. Now I think of him whenever we listen to music together. He's ruined Wings. Wings! I know we don't go out in the garage as much as we used to, that I've moved out and shit but I miss it sometimes. I'm going to text you to hang out. There's a Sooner's game on tomorrow that we should watch together.

> ↳ Times we've got George to swear on stream. First to 5 wins £500  
>  Sapnap - 2   
>  Me - 2  
>  In dispute because George was reacting to the situation of dying in game as a whole, not just Sapnap killing him. There is clearly the fall damage to take into consideration but whatever. I'll be a fair sport and let him have this one. Imma win this shit easy anyway

> ↳ I can't believe I'm losing sleep over this, over you. You're so dumb and short and you never take anything seriously. You're a baby when you don't get your own way and it's probably my fault because I want to indulge you way too often. Sapnap definitely knows something's up. Why do you have to make me so happy and frustrated?

> ↳ tweet idea:  
>  George: plays and codes Minecraft  
>  Also George: thinks you can tame rabbits in Minecraft
> 
> this is so dumb. bad tweet. george brainrot or whatever the fuck people say

> ↳ It's crazy how much has changed, how much we've grown up since YouTube. I told you to come with me and you did. Look at us now. Look at you!

> ↳ Remember before all of this when I worked at Apple and you were doing freelancing and I used to stay up with you and we'd both miss a night's sleep to get your coding done. We work well as a team. Some part of me has always been with you.

> ↳ You've left a mark on me, untouched. Does that make sense? You have changed me, unintentionally. My love for you has changed me

> ↳ I just had this dream about u.  
>  nevermind. forget it. i'm not writing that down.

> ↳ REMINDER: PICK DRISTA UP. 5 PM.

> ↳ You say these things, stupid simple shit when you're tired. About wishing that I was there with you. What am I supposed to do with that? Probably not think about it much longer than it's rolled off your tongue. It's all I can think about.

> ↳ I'm on a plane and this was a terrible plan. I'm not doing this. I'm getting off this plane and getting back on another one home. This was a bad idea.

> ↳ This wasn't that bad of an idea. If I don't say anything it'll be fine. It's so fucking good to see you. It doesn't hurt as much as I thought it was going to. It's almost easy if I don't think too hard or linger too often or think about the fact that I'm sleeping in the same bed as you.

> ↳ _the whispering  
>  __tells me there's a wanting_
> 
> _the whispering_  
>  _is soft and sincere_
> 
> this note, probably left by some wistful student or yearning lover in a place where secrets are celebrated. I want to say so much but it's best whispered, quiet enough you don't hear, in the middle of the night when there's no chance I'll be overheard.

> ↳ I'm not used to you yet. That's what you said. That you need time and space to get used to me and I feel stupid. So caught up in my own self-centred need to be seen by you that I didn't think about what you wanted. It was selfish to think that I could just show up in London and you'd know without me saying anything.

> ↳ He looks so pretty in the morning like a content cat curled up. I want to wake up next to him for the rest of my life. Face sleep-flushed, brown eyes falling shut even as he tries to keep them open, hair messy for that brief moment before he inevitably gets up and brushes through it smooths out the sleep-creased waves. I think about just reaching out, sliding my fingers across his cheek, pushing them into his hair.

> ↳ Sometimes George speaks like someone who has a lot of eloquence but then he says the absolute dumbest shit I've ever heard.

> ↳ Times we've got George to swear on stream. First to 5 wins £500  
>  Sapnap - 2   
>  Me - 3  
>  Okay, it's not cheating just because I'm sat next to him. Nick can't dispute this when I let his last one slide

> ↳ There's something between us. I'm probably a fool for believing it. The dreams of you, with you, are everything I think of.

> ↳ CRISIS ALERT Minecraft YouTuber Dream found dead at the age of 21 after snooping in places he shouldn't and dying of shock.
> 
> If I don't write this somewhere I'll go insane and there is no-one and I mean, no-one thatI can ever tell about this because frankly its too embarrassing and I'm actually going to die. Passing away right now🥴
> 
> Let me set the scene. Crises don't happen on purpose or with forewarning. And this, like most crises, was totally unexpected. One minute I'm searching the bottom drawer of one of George's bedside cabinets for a spare UK compatible charger for my laptop. The next minute I'm staring at a box of condoms like they've murdered my family.
> 
> Okay and so, honestly despite the countless shower thoughts and dreams that I may or may not have had about George in that way. I never expected I would be forced to reckon with the idea that George actually has sex or at least was having sex up until the point of which I interrupted his normal life. And it's like of course George has sex, he's an attractive twenty-something who can do whatever he likes. But...
> 
> It's like the world spins out of focus. And I'm thinking about things I definitely shouldn't be thinking about my best friend.
> 
> Okay, I mean I know George hasn't ever dated anyone long term or otherwise. but just because you don't get into relationships doesn't mean you aren't having sex or seeing people casually. Why did I have it in my head that he was too awkward in his own skin for that sort of thing? But now I know I have woefully misunderstood. That George has just let me think that assumption for the longest time, unchecked. It's such a George thing to do. It's frustrating and endearing all at once. Fuck you, George.

> ↳ I like you in the quiet when there's nothing to say and there doesn't need to be. Sat next to you in bed or on the sofa. I'm content even with you in the same room as me.

> ↳ I can't ever get the words out. There are so many times I've been close to confession. You don't know what you looked like under those lights in Camden. If you knew what you looked like. If you could see what I saw, George. I wish I could do more than just hold your hand, but even that feels too close to the truth.

> ↳ We should listen to music together more often. This isn't even an implausible thing I just... I don't know George. I don't know what I'm doing

> ↳ The fact that your bookshelves are full of uni books, Harry Potter and shit I've recommended. George, what the hell. You bought a whole series because I said you might like them, and I'M the one who is in love with you. Sure this is fine :)

> ↳ All of my cards are on the table George. How else can I confess without confessing anything??

> ↳ You've figured me out. I know you like to pretend you're clueless about things, but not this. God. It feels like self-destruction. Why else would I have let you read the script if I didn't want you to know? This was dumb. There are so many ways I could have stopped myself but I didn't because I wanted to believe some fantasy bullshit, I can't just write out a happy ending where I get what I want. It doesn't work like that.
> 
> But now, now you know. It was a mistake. This isn't the reaction I was hoping for. The one I made up in my head where you read the script and understood immediately and told me you love me and feel the same and
> 
> Am I just projecting? Probably. Hopefully writing this down is one step closer to acceptance.

> ↳ I booked a flight home. That's what's best. It's what you want. I need to go home and just wash myself of this whole experience. Somehow the frigid honesty to the air in London has made me miss the Florida sun.
> 
> I hope you'll let us move past this and I know I need to talk with you at some point. Have the conversation where I assure you this won't affect our friendship. Because I won't let it.

> ↳ There's so little time left and already it feels like there are miles between us but I don't know. I'd let you hurt me a thousand times over if I could just stay here just a while longer. I'd let it kill me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter song: short and sweet - brittany howard  
> honorary chapter songs: idontwannaspeakagain - quadeca and let me roll it - wings
> 
> listen to the updated playlist [here!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7qOHvo7rLvXuCZmUEVDjz0)
> 
> this was supposed to be a fairly short, in-between chapter that would only take me a couple days to write and post but i ended up working on it pretty much as long as any usual chapter, i apologise haha. i am working on the next chapter as we speak <3  
> 


	11. one more weekend

Everything is constantly ending. What is life but an ending?

The end of a day, a week, a month, a year. The last movie you watched, The book you just finished. The end of a song, a sentence, a thought. A moment.

The end of a trip to London with your best friend who you're in love with. Who means more to you than just a best friend.

Like all things, this moment has reached its last page and so completes the cyclical ritual of life.  
  


There is pretty much one weekend left. It falls hard and fast with a distinct taste of uncertainty. Even George's cat senses the unease, she has taken to wandering between Dream and George for attention like she can't quite decide who needs her comfort more.

"Dream." George sounds out his name carefully because he needs to be sure. He hasn't even turned around in his chair yet.

They're sat in George's bedroom in relative silence, Dream on his laptop and George on his PC, getting on with work coding and editing, at least that's what George is doing. He bumps the headphones off his ears, Kid Cudi fading away. Turning and looking over to Dream who sits on the bed, legs crossed. He hasn't even heard George call his name, earbuds still tucked into his ears, too absorbed by whatever he is working on. George doesn't know how he can say goodbye to this. To Dream sat in his space doing his own thing. He's brought this upon himself, George knows there is nothing to do about it. Not unless he admits what he barely knows.

Strangely, as last night has faded into today George has come to notice things don't feel as dramatically different as yesterday's startling realization suggested. Now that George has had a restless night to steep in the fact he's in love with Dream, it's overwhelming, sure, but things make sense. Now he's less confused about what he feels in general and more confused about what to do with what he knows he feels. It's a disorientating new normal. It's him and Dream.

Dream frowns when he's concentrating hard, a line between his eyebrows, steady determination on his face. His hands skid across the keyboard precisely. George wonders if Dream gets thrown off like he does when switching from his PC keyboard to his laptop, the different spacing and feel of the keys messing up his typing.

"Dream." He says again, this time Dream must hear because he looks up and quickly removes an earbud.

"Did you say something?"

What follows is a conversation between friends who are stuck. Not on the edge of a cliff or anything quite so dramatic. Just between understanding what they know and what the truth is.

"Yeah. I just—" George sighs out, "I wanted to say sorry, I guess. For last night. I was— it was.." The sure certainty of getting through this conversation immediately slips away.

"Dude, don't even worry about it. You were overwhelmed and I wasn't exactly helpful." Dream runs a regretful hand through his hair.

"I'm still sorry, I was overreacting and it wasn't really to do with you—"

"Hey, I get it, no sweat. I'm going home and things will go back to the way they were before." He smiles affectedly. "Hopefully next time we do something like this, you— we're more prepared for it."

"I still want to spend time with you, before you go. I know last night I said.." he doesn't finish the thought, Dream gets it, "but I have enjoyed having you here."

"Next time we'll do it better, I'll get a hotel and we'll invite Sapnap. Or you could come to Orlando and we could get Karl and Quackity too."

George's eyes widen excitedly at the prospect. "Yes, definitely."

**KARL**  
dudeeee are u alive? blink twice if ur alive?  
 **  
KARL  
** any blinkers?

 **GEORGE**  
*Blinks once*  
 **  
KARL  
** NOOOOOO GEORGEEEE

 **KARL**  
georgenotfound, he will be remembered forever in our hearts. in his life he had many accomplishments but unfortunately, those don't include ever being a sex haver. rest in pieces  
  
 **GEORGE**  
You forgot I had sex with your mum   
**  
KARL  
** sometimes I still hear his voice from beyond the grave.. so sad

 **GEORGE**  
Was there a point to this or??  
  
 **KARL**  
HOP IN VC WITH WITH ME AND ALEX  
  
 **GEORGE**  
I'm with Dream

 **KARL**  
ur always with dream, he can be here too

 **GEORGE**  
He's leaving soon though, I wanna spend time with him

 **KARL**  
he's leaving? this is news to me  
  
 **KARL**  
MOM SAID IT'S MY TURN TO HAVE THE DREAM  
  
 **GEORGE**  
K we'll join but probably not for too long

 **KARL**  
we'll see about that >:)

  
  


There's a fifties movie playing on whatever channel is on TV. James Dean and Natalie Wood lie together, Wood looking down at a casual-cool Dean, her face brushing his. A fire crackling behind them.

In perfect mimicry, Dream lays on the floor on the rug in front of the television. Eyes closed, occasionally glancing over at the screen, sometimes mouthing a line he thinks he remembers. George watches Dream watching the TV from the couch whilst pretending to scroll through his phone. As close as he dares to get.

"We should make breakfast." Dream tells him before looking over, head-turning to face George. Who thinks, _how have I not noticed you before._ He wants to feel that angled jaw under his fingers, learn how Dream responds to his touch.

"It's four pm." George squints back at him.

"George," his tone is deadly serious. "It's never too late for breakfast."

This is one of the last moments. Making breakfast in the afternoon. Making a mess of George's kitchen, digging through cupboards and the fridge. Dream wants pancakes when George assumed breakfast at four pm meant a bowl of cereal and a glass of juice at most.

They don't look up a recipe because Dream claims he knows how to make them without one and George really, really wants to see this happen. George thinks Dream is lucky that his mum has made sure he always has the basics like flour and sugar in his cupboards because otherwise they'd be fucked. Then they would definitely be having cereal.

Dream makes the first mistake, tipping over the flour and getting it on the counter, George cackles at the spillage and blows on it, sending flour dust up into the air, a coating of white on their faces and hair, looking like very shitty vampire facepaint.

"We are not starting this." Dream gives George a firm look and it's so tempting. George thinks he'd kiss Dream even with flour on his face and in his hair.

Ignoring the impulse, he retaliates by flicking more flour in Dream's direction.

"We are so not doing this." Dream affirms as more flour lands on his t-shirt.

"George. How old are you?"

"Older than you."

"Exactly, yet you're a child. _A child, George._ "

George flicks more flour, Dream exhales slowly, his eyes glittering and George knows he's pushing buttons. This is exactly the reaction he wants. Dream looks at George, then to the counter at George's hand, poised to send more flour in his direction.

"No." He says once, sternly but smiling like he can't help himself. George flicks anyway. In sudden motion, Dream scoops flour into his hands and flourishes them at George. Throwing the cloud of white at his face. George coughs, swatting the air and laughing, Dream grabs his arm to stop him from falling as he moves without care.

"You're the worst." George blows air out and flour surrounds them.

Dream just smirks, steps back. He has left a perfect flour hand mark on George's jumper sleeve, stark white contrasting the black.

They get the pancakes done eventually, George's kitchen counter is a mess and there's a streak of flour in his hair from where he's run his hand through it. They sit back in front of the television, both on the rug this time. Rebel Without a Cause is coming to an end as movies do. Nothing lasts forever after all.

They watch through the credits and advertisements that fall after, then whatever movie starts next, eating pancakes that are surprisingly good for how badly the process of making them went. George thinks about the egg whites and yolk dripping down the counter and winces. It's going to be so difficult to clean up.

"I can't wait to see Patches, I didn't realize how much I would miss her." Dream's looking at George's cat, sleeping away on the couch.

"Only a day left, then you'll get to see her." George swallows.

"It's strange, I think I'm going to miss your cat too now."

It's a funny thing, isn't it? How attached you can become in so little time.

"She has that effect on people."

"Yeah, she does." But Dream's looking right at George when he says it. And that is difficult to ignore.

"These pancakes are better than I expected," George says, instead of what he wants to.

"If we've gained one thing from me being in London it is that I am good at cooking."

"You're alright, but I did help with these pancakes so you can't take all the credit Dream."

"George, don't make me laugh at you. The flour? The eggs, _multiple eggs!_ That you dropped all over."

"That was your fault! You knocked me on purpose."

"You were the one being antagonistic about who got to stir the batter. Again, like a child."

"Oh _wa wa wa,_ Dream."

"Yeah _wa wa wa_. You are the only baby here."

Conversation continues on as expected.  
  
  
  


**_PLATO_ ** _: Jim, do you think the end of the world will come at nighttime?_

**_JIM_ ** _: Uh, uh. At dawn._

_— Rebel Without a Cause (1955)_   
  
  
  
  


The alarm goes off on Dream's phone. He turns it off and rolls over. A hand drifts across George's stomach, settling down gently, George is still too lost in sleep to notice it quite yet. Five minutes later, a second alarm rings. 

It's too early to be awake. George knows that alarm means it's five minutes past five in the morning, the sun will be barely starting to sluggishly rise. It's now that he notices the hand. He lays motionless for a long moment as he contemplates it. 

It's a welcome feeling, Dream's fingers caught in the material of the t-shirt he's sleeping in, his pinky finger sat on the bare skin of George's stomach where his shirt has bunched up. George can't contemplate for too long, however, as Dream's alarm is still going off and it's growing annoying.

"Dream." He groans, voice heavy. It pains him to even lift his head from the pillow.

The alarm is ringing, startlingly loud in the quiet of the morning. Dream just groans and shoves himself further under the covers, the hand slips away and George wants to reach out for it, take Dream's fingers and place it back. George thinks of that first morning, Dream engulfed in quilt. Barely more than an elbow and a foot poking out from under the quilt. How different he is now just a few weeks later. Dream's head of hair is all that's visible from this angle.

"Get the 'larm." George huffs.

There's a muffled 'no' from the quilt-covered Dream. George's tiredness leaves him, he sits up, spots Dream's phone on the bedside cabinet, and reaches over for it. "What're you—?" He hears, but George is already on his knees reaching over, the voice comes from somewhere below his ribcage. He picks the phone up and snoozes it then sits back with the device in his hand.

"Idiot. Turn it off properly before it goes off again." He shoves it at Dream to unlock, setting it down with finality where Dream's shoulder meets his collarbone. Dream's eyes are full and rounded, looking right at George.

"What?" George huffs.

"Nothing." Dream closes his eyes, makes no other move. George sighs.

"You'll miss your flight nimrod."

"We've got time." Dream mutters, but his hand appears out of the covers and takes hold of the phone. Dream glances at George again, then unlocks his phone, turning the alarms off completely so they won't be bothered by them again. "You coming with me to the airport?"

George shrugs. "If you want."

"Of course I do. We've got to have a proper goodbye."

Despite George forcing Dream awake. He doesn't say anything when they sit in bed for a little while longer.  
  
  
  


**SAPNAP**  
Heard you're coming home??

 **SAPNAP**  
I thought this thing was happening for like another month at least? What happened?

 **DREAM**  
I'll call you when I'm back in Orlando.

 **DREAM**  
It's hard to explain over text

 **SAPNAP**  
Sure thing brother. No worries

 **SAPNAP**  
You good though?

 **DREAM**  
Will be dude

The weather has decided to turn unbearably icy cold. Though it's not raining, the chill wind stings Dream's skin. Luckily, they're only darting to the street where the Uber that George ordered is waiting. Dream only hopes the driver isn't too mad considering they made him wait a good five minutes. Thankfully, he only sighs in greeting when they finally clamber in, George shuts the door behind them. It's Dreams fault they had to rush, he hadn't remembered to pack his laptop and charger away yesterday and so they'd had to unzip his locked suitcase in the moments before leaving and quickly shove it inside.

"I don't think we're even going to be late." Dream says to George in surprise as he checks the time.

Halfway to the airport and George hasn't stopped rambling about irrelevant shit. It's not the way Dream wanted to say goodbye. George won't shut up and Dream's hands are sweating. At least it's sort of ruining the urge to spill his guts when George is so distracted. Makes it easier to pretend all is well. That leaving isn't the end of the world. The ground has been laid for a future trip to Orlando in a couple of months, with the other boys joining them too. So he can't let himself feel too sad about leaving. He feels it anyway.

They arrive at the North Terminal at Gatwick and George walks Dream into the Departure entrance. There are tired-looking people all around them but it's not as busy as Dream expected.

"Do they have bathrooms here?" He says quickly, turning to George who fidgets by his side.

"Probably. Check-in first and then we'll find one. I'll wait here."

He leaves George by a pillar near the entrance and even this feels hard. Like he's going to look back and George will have slipped out the exit. But George just shoots him a smile and a small wave, probably amused by how many times Dream's head has turned to him.

Once Dream is checked in and has been handed his boarding pass. They hunt a bathroom down together. It feels like an excuse. It is an excuse to spend a few more seconds with George before he has to go through Security. He doesn't even need the bathroom, just to splash his face with water and let it sink in that he's leaving.

They find one tucked to the side of a shuttered British Airways Information desk. It's empty, clinically clean, and lit by those fluorescent overhead lights that wash you out and make you feel a little ill after they've been shining in your eyes for too long. Dream has a feeling it's going to be a long flight home. He heads straight to the sink, pulling his little suitcase to a stop.

"What time will it be in Orlando when you land?" Dream feels like they're going in circles, George has definitely asked this question, or similar already this morning.

"About two am, I told you that." Dream looks at his face in the mirror, the reflection of George by his side.

"Just checking. How are you getting back from the airport?"

Dream's got a headache forming, right at the centre of his forehead and George's nervous talking isn't helping anyone. Dream knows what he's doing, trying to fill the time that they have left together. Dream has never loved someone so much and not been able to do anything about it.

"I don't know, a taxi or something." He replies, not really thinking about it.

"Okay. So will you—" He wants to shut George up for a second. Be the person who can kiss him into silence when he's going off on a tangent. How can he not when George is looking at him like that, brown doe eyes, soft pink lips, half-buried in a hoodie. Dream is only human and a weak one at that. He wants so much. He can't even hear what George is saying anymore, words have fallen away.

Dream pulls George into a breathless, needy kiss in a public bathroom at Gatwick Airport.

There's nothing romantic about it, it's quick and desperate and it feels like the end of something. The world, the trip. Like this is the last stand and Dream is willing to die for it. He kisses George with finality. Dream has run out of time. He marches George into the line of sinks and crushes them together with a force that must surely hurt where George's ass and the back of his thighs smack against it. It's his final bow before the curtains close.

He wants to unravel George at least a little before he goes. This is what he came to London for in the first place, isn't it? This is what he's been holding back from. How did he ever hold himself back from this?

George's mouth gasps open and Dream uses the opportunity to lick cleanly into it, his thumb rubbing circles into George's hip whilst the other hand cups George's jaw, sliding its way into his hair and holding him there by it. He kisses like if he doesn't he'll die. Until he can't breathe, and then he keeps on going past it.

Like sweet ambrosia heals, George meets Dream's parched lips and he is only a man. As nectar is to a butterfly, he's drawn in. George is saccharine and Dream wants to consume him. Their mouths move against each other and he hungers for more.

Dream thinks _you are the food of the gods, turn my blood to ichor and let me be cured by the taste of you._

George is clutching at Dream's shirt and the tight hold he has on it keeps Dream firmly in place, not that he's going anywhere. George makes a wet broken sound that vibrates down Dream's spine and he inhales it hungrily.

Then George seems to snap, with Dream moving backward and George dishevelled, wide-eyed and staring at Dream in shock. They don't move, Dream doesn't think he physically can. He feels absolutely frozen to the spot under George's gaze. Dream remembers all at once that they're in a public bathroom at Gatwick airport. That Dream is leaving and he just indulged the selfish want he has been so purposefully ignoring.

"W-what?" George's voice trembles, "Dream? You—" He touches his lips, something sinks in Dream's stomach. He feels sick.

"I'm sorry." Dream gasps out immediately, his own voice wrecked. He's cold and hot all over. "I know it's not what you want, I'm just, I had to do that before I left. I can't keep pretending that I'm not–," he swallows the panic that rises up his throat, "I'm in love with you George. God, you don't even know how much you—"

George is just looking at him in wide-eyed astonishment. His mouth catches on the start of a word or sentence - but he just looks lost.

"Don't say anything please," Dream says quickly because he can't bear it. "This is hard enough. I'm sorry, I could have done this better." He pulls at his hair.

"Dream, no you..." George's voice is a whisper and it falls off. He's struck speechless. Dream doesn't want to think about what that tone means. George doesn't say anything else and that feels worse than anything, than a fuck you, or an outright no. George whispers his name and it feels like they're stood parallel in St Paul's Cathedral on opposite sides of a circular room. This is the truth that Dream doesn't want to accept and it's unavoidable now. He'd done so well to steer clear of being here and now look at what he's gone and done. Ruined by his recklessness.

"I'm sorry." He stutters out again.

Dream likes to think of himself as a fighter. That he stands his ground and gives as much as he gets but right now he wants to run away as fast as he can. Away from George and the hurt and all the love that weighs down his heart. So he does. He grabs his jacket and suitcase and runs away, blending in with the crowds of travellers and pushing through to Security. He leaves George in an empty airport bathroom. Feeling relieved and distraught, his heart growing heavier the further away he gets.  
  
  
  


_**JIM:** You can wake up now, the universe has ended._

_— Rebel Without a Cause (1955)_   
  
  


George stands still for far too long. Blinking at the empty air that Dream has left behind him. He can still feel Dream's mouth against his, warm and perfect, too much and not enough. He switches to angry confusion in seconds. _What the fuck?_ Dream just kissed him and bounced. Like that. Leaving George alone to deal with the aftermath, before he can even begin to comprehend it.

Beelining it out of the bathroom, George's eyes scan the Departure's building. But if Dream is anywhere, he evades George's vision. He must have already moved on to the Security desk, where George can't follow.

It's too loud inside to think or breathe and he has no hope of finding Dream here now. He moves to the exit. It's freezing outside, but he perseveres. Standing in an alcove to the right of the doors. George shivers. When he breathes out the air is visible, he thinks of flour clouds in the kitchen and Dream's hand on his arm in stark-white.

Pulling his phone from his pocket George calls Dream. He doesn't even know what he wants to say yet, he just needs to get that dumb idiot to stand still for a minute. To explain, to let George tell him that it's okay.

" _Answer._ " He mutters to the endless ring coming from his phone. Eventually, it rolls to voicemail. George hangs up. He pulls his sweater over his hands like it will conceal the white-knuckle clench of his fists. Maybe it is the cold that seizes him but it's certainly not the cold that has his heart-racing, his chest-aching.

Though this feeling, he thinks, is cold too.

He calls Sapnap next, a natural progression.

"George! Dude, I just fucking killed this game. You have gotta get on CS with me right now. I am popping off!" His tone is enthusiastically loud.

"I um.. Sapnap. Dream. He.. Dream's gone and—"

There's a clattering sound, then Sapnap's voice clearer than before in his ear. "Are you okay? Where are you? Did he just leave?"

"Just gone, I'm at the airport. He kissed me and then he left and I—" George's breathing hiccups, choking on the words.

" _What!_ " It's loud in a way only Sapnap can be, "George am I hallucinating? Are you hallucinating? He kissed you?"

"In the airport bathroom. Then he left." He repeats again, as though he can make more sense of this situation the more times he says it out loud.

"In an airport bathroom? Ew, do I need to call him and tell him that is so not hot? You deserve so much better than an airport bathroom Georgie." Sapnap is either missing the point or being purposefully imperceptive.

"You're not freaking out?" George shoves his free hand into the pocket of his hoodie.

"No. Are you?"

" _You know_. Did Dream tell you? What did he tell you?"

Ignoring the question, Sapnap sighs. "So you finally figured it out. It only took you forever dude."

"He kissed me Sapnap, I think that made it pretty clear." George snaps.

"Dude, how have you been this oblivious that it took him kissing you to figure it out?"

"I don't know, how didn't I see it? How didn't I realize I loved him." The words spill out into the open, seized by the crisp morning air.

"Oh, so we're using the big words."

"I knew I loved him. I've always loved him. I think it— I think it changed. It's always been friend love, like for you—"

"Aw George! You love me?" Sapnap interrupts.

"Shut up, I'm trying to talk about something for once, and you just." George sighs, frustrated but mainly at himself and at everything that's happened. At Dream for leaving instead of facing this, where they could come to some logical conclusion.

"Sorry, sorry. Go on dude."

"I thought it was just like.. friend love and I guess I didn't want to think about it being anything different. Shit. I don't know how this has happened. I don't get what's changed."

"Time, circumstance. The two of you have changed, like, so much. You were way more annoying before." Before means YouTube, a couple of years ago when he was eighteen but acted more like the sixteen-year-olds he was friends with. They've all grown up.

"I— I don't know what to do. I don't know what I'm doing!" George closes his eyes for a hot second, there are definitely tears forming and he is not going to let himself cry over this.

"Me either dude. I don't think I've got good advice for you if that's what you want."

George sniffs. "I just needed to say this, to someone. To you. because you know Dream and me and Dream's gone. He kissed me and told me... He ran away and got on his flight."

"Fuck. He is so... I will kill him if you want me to. He is such a dumb little bitch." Sapnap gets louder as he speaks and George can't help but smile a little.

"He really is."

"You should fly over and just come see me. Make him jealous. I'll show you a good time Georgie."

"Shut the- you're such a nimrod. Shut up."

"I'm, like, almost fully serious!"

"I could do it though, I could fly to Orlando or, or—"

"This is getting too close to romcom level cringe dude, I hate that." Sapnap groans.

"Not like, in a cringe way. Just.. we both know Dream."

"We're the three most stubborn assholes in the world aren't we?" George assumes it's rhetorical, the answer is a clear yes. "You do whatever you think is best, I'll always be here waiting for the two of you to sort your shit out so we can go back to playing video games and not stressing about dumb shit like.. feelings ew."

"It has been so dumb."

"Go home George, we'll figure something. I'll talk to Dream once he's landed if you want?"

"Don't. Not yet. Just, give me time to sort it out myself. If I want you to say something to him, I'll tell you I promise, okay?"

"Sure. Love you dude, take care of yourself."

"I will, love you too idiot."

Sapnap makes a loud kissy noise, it cuts off as the phone hangs up. George sighs, feeling... feeling too much to put into words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter song is one more weekend - maude latour
> 
> so that happened?? i can't believe it either tbh. i'm very nervous and excited about this chapter oh my


	12. for you

Dream is a dick (self-appointed, world-renowned). The plane is giving him too much room to think, to regret, and to torture himself. He's got a middle seat, squished awkwardly between two strangers and he dares not move too much, doesn't know which armrest he's expected to use. It's a nine-hour long flight home and his chair is already uncomfortable and— he can't believe he kissed George in an airport bathroom and left him there.   
  
His head is pounding. George's face cupped in the palm of his hand, pressed close and— the stewardess interrupts asking if he wants any refreshments. He pays way too much for a bottle of water, then shoves his earbuds in and turns his music all the way up. Dream's overflowing confession races through his mind. He is no fighter at all. He's a coward who spilt his guts and ran away because it got too much.   
  
The woman with the window seat just pulled a tuna sandwich out of her bag, bought from the Boots that was in Duty-Free at the airport. He reaches for his own backpack, tucked under the seat in front of him, where inside Dream knows is George's stolen copy of Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. There are the markings of those dog-eared pages that George had never bothered to straighten out, it feels like a sacred thing, he feels unworthy of touching it. Dream opens it anyway and makes an attempt to read, hoping to get lost in— _The house stood on a slight rise just on the edge of the village. It stood on its own and looked out over a broad spread of West Country farmland. Not a remarkable house by any means_ — What is wrong with him, why did he even do that? He can't stop thinking about the shell-shock on George's face, his lips parted, his face a picture of confusion.   
  
Dream closes the book and sets it on his lap. There is little option in terms of distraction. He attempts a remedy for his panicked mind by turning to his phone, there aren't many choices with it being on flight mode. Techno had sent over some ideas for the SMP plot yesterday and Dream had copy and pasted them to his Notes to read later. But no, he doesn't feel much like working on that plot right now. He opens a blank document instead and starts writing something new, hunched over the keypad of his phone. It's not ideal and he wishes his laptop wasn't in his suitcase because it would be much easier with that. But for a short while, carefully typing on his phone is a worthy distraction.

  
THE DREAM SMP

_'BEGINNING OF THE END ARC'_  
CHAPTER 12 - FOR YOU

 _INT._ It's a poorly constructed shack of a building. Held together by pure luck and obvious hap-hazard repair. The edges of the room are fuzzy, the blocks they're made of not quite settled in place. And the view outside, well, there is nothing out there. Just the empty place. It's best not to focus on that. The light coming in through the large, wall-spanning windows emanates from an unknown source, but it filters the room a warm, grainy shade of nostalgia. This space is warm and it is well-known, the strange flooring has been walked over by countless feet, the spiralling staircase that stands in the middle of the space is well worn, each pale wooden step has been worn down into grooves. The wood of the handrail has been gripped and touched so many times that it has been polished into a shine by simple wear.   
  
There is history to this place and there are no people more aware of it than the two lone figures that stand in the room.

Enter GEORGE and DREAM. Our hero and our villain.

They both know this place all too well. They're the ones who built it after all.

 _GEORGE:_ How did we get here?

 _DREAM:_ I don't know. Does it matter?

 _GEORGE:_ No, I suppose not.  
  
It's simple really, here is a place where nothing else matters. Time stands still, dust particles in the air sparkle like glitter. And if we imagine as though we're children once more, with wonder and honest awe we can picture this simple dust as fairies dancing for us in the sunlight.

 _GEORGE:_ It feels like we haven't spoken in ages.

 _Ages_ , as though nations have risen and fallen in less time.

 _DREAM:_ We speak every day, George. It's probably only been a couple of hours at most.

George shifts his weight and the floor under him groans.

 _GEORGE:_ I guess so.  
  
Dream watches him turn in a circle, eyes scanning the room and getting caught every once in a while on the material things that fill it. He leans against the staircase, just observing the movement.

 _GEORGE:_ _(voice quiet)_ Strange.

 _DREAM:_ What is it?

 _GEORGE:_ I don't know. Wasn't there a door here before?

George gestures with the tilt of his head to a wall that is a window but maybe once had a door. Something is happening, the walls are moving but nothing changes and though he squints at them, it doesn't become clearer to see.

It's Dream's turn to fall silent, he returns George's stare but says nothing else. Equally as lost as George is.

 _GEORGE: (cont.)_ I guess not.  
  
Then, George moves to where a door feasibly could once have been, but for some reason, he can't quite reach it. The room isn't that big and he knows that it should only take three steps forward to reach the wall-sans-door. But he takes those steps and is no closer than before. Strange indeed.

 _DREAM:_ You should stay here. With me.

Dream is settled now on the stairs, sat with his legs planted firmly on one of the steps below him. He doesn't seem bothered by the moving walls or the missing doors, he's too busy looking at George to notice.

 _GEORGE:_ I'm not going anywhere. Where would I go without you?

They look at each other for a beat.

 _DREAM:_ Nowhere.

There's a shared smile between them, full of secrets and memory. As weighted as a quick flash of teeth and quirked lips can be.

 _DREAM:_ _(cont.)_ If I went somewhere without you, there'd be something seriously wrong.

George snorts at the sincerity behind those words.

 _GEORGE:_ I like it here.

He's looking inwards, around the room again, up at the ceiling and then the chests full of things they haven't looked at in forever.

 _DREAM:_ George, will you come over here?

But George has stopped to open up an unlocked chest and is staring at whatever happens to be inside. There's something of substance in there, and he smiles as though he remembers what it is. But he can't quite picture the thing in the chest in his head or why it would evoke such a sensation of nostalgia.

 _GEORGE:_ Are we missing someone or something?

The words fall out of his mouth, the room tilts sideways but they stay glued to their spots, nothing falling, breaking or moving. Apart from the dust dancing and their chests expanding and deflating as they breathe, but the room is definitely sideways.

 _DREAM:_ Sapnap's not here.

The room straightens out again.

 _GEORGE:_ Oh, that must be it.

George steps towards Dream and his face changes as he notices something unusual.

 _GEORGE:_ You're not wearing your mask?

 _DREAM:_ Not with you. Do you want me to?

Dream's looking at him, eyes wide and George knows if he said so Dream would put the mask back on straight away. The room creaks with this knowledge, like old buildings do.

 _GEORGE:_ Of course not. Never with me.

This is where there is confession. Something shifts in the room that is a home, but not really, and Dream is standing in front of George and he tells him he loves him and the room isn't quite real, but the light coming in through the windows is getting brighter and the words come out of Dream's mouth in perfect order.

And this time, George says I love you back.

_**EXEUNT.  
**   
  
_

There are seven hours and forty-six minutes left of his flight and Dream has no clue how he is going to fill them.

  
**SAPNAP**  
are u back yet?

 **DREAM**  
Just landed, give me an hour or two to get home and I can call you?

 **SAPNAP**  
no biggie

His mom picks him up from Orlando International Airport. Taking one look at him and whatever expression must sit on his face, she draws him into a squeezing hug. It's two am and he's thankful she said she would pick him up, despite the late hour. He's missed her so much and she has missed him enough to come get him when she could be sleeping.

It's easier to hold in the urge to have a breakdown when he knows she will be there to bear witness.

"Mom, I can't breathe."

"I've missed you so so much." She gives him one final, oxygen-depriving squeeze and kisses him firmly on the forehead.

"I missed you." He tells her, only minutely embarrassed that he's a 21-year-old man being hugged to death by his mother. She pulls back, looking at him carefully. His mom is a tall woman with blonde hair that is much lighter than his. She's almost eye-level with Dream, but under her green-eyed gaze, he feels smaller. Like he's shrinking back into the obnoxious kid he used to be.

"What's up? How was the trip?" She's a calculated sort of casual and he knows she has filed away whatever she sees in his expression, to use later.

"It was good, great even." He manages a genuine smile, it was more than great. Apart from just that little thing, right at the end.

"And how's George? He okay?"

She must see the way his face drops, his eyes dart away then back to her face.

"Yeah, he-, he's good. It's all good."

"Clay." Her tone is a wary question, testing the waters of the conversation.

"Mom, it's fine, I promise. I'll show you some photos we took later, okay?"

"Sure... I'm happy to have you home." She squeezes his hand and lets go carefully. He trails her back to the car. She doesn't bring anything up on the way to his apartment and he's thankful. But he knows at some point she's going to expect a conversation.

  
It's strange being back here, with the new knowledge of how different it is from London. They pass the giant billboards that line the interstate and it's so American, it's a startling culture shock. They don't have highways like this in London, they don't have humidity like this in London. Even the way the light of the early morning hits the road as they drive is different. His sense of place, of home, has been disrupted. Dream doesn't know if he quite belongs in either. Part of him is still in that small London flat in the middle of the city. And the part of him that he left behind here is unrecognizable to the Dream that now returns. He feels too warm, a layer of sweat on his skin, but the air conditioning is already blasting in the car. He stays quiet as his mom talks his ear off about his little sister and his dad and how everyone else is doing, Dream listens absently to the American voice on the radio introducing the next song.  
  


> ↳ we never went to brighton. we never stood on the beach and maybe i've messed up our only chance of seeing a sunset together. 

  
  
  
  
His house is too warm, left stagnant for long enough that the outside air has seeped in and made it unbearably hot. His mom leaves him on the doorstep. "You're going to be alright? I'll come back later today and bring you Patches."

"I'll be fine, I'm probably going to go sleep for a couple of hours, so don't worry about rushing back. You should get some sleep yourself."

"I will. Make sure you do." She gives him a stern look.

He nods.

"I love you, Clay."

"Love you too." 

She walks back down the driveway to the car, giving him a final wave before she's off. He closes the door. It's startlingly quiet inside and the heat is almost unbearable. Dream turns the air conditioning on straight away. He leaves his bags in the doorway and walks around this strange space like a tourist just visiting - careful and curious. In the kitchen, he pulls open the fridge. There's a pint of off-milk he didn't plan for when he left on such short notice, as well as other perishables that are distinctly _gross_. The smell is unpleasant. He closes the fridge, quickly deciding it will be something he deals with later.

His kitchen is so different from George's, bigger and echoing, there isn't the noise from the television or the sound of road traffic outside. There is an actual upstairs and downstairs to this place and too many rooms. Dream didn't realize he hates how many rooms his house has.

He doesn't bother with switching any lights on, moving around like a ghost in the dark. Haunting his own hallways. From room to room he goes, pulling off his jacket and dropping it on the floor of the stairs. He reaches the upstairs landing and staggers down the hallway. The floorboards don't make noise underfoot like those in George's old apartment.

He finds himself on the floor of his bedroom. It feels like an out of body experience. Dream lays there, draws his hands to his face, fingertips pressed to his eyes, palms flattening against his cheeks. He sighs out all that has built up in his chest. Or tries to, it's lodged in his throat and threatening to spill over. His arms fall away from his face and Dream is staring at the plain darkness of his ceiling.

**dream** _@dreamwastaken_   
Back stateside! Planning some streams in the near future. Video's not scheduled until I'm settled in properly. Sorry that I've been a bit more absent than usual, I've missed you guys! How have you all been?

7.1k REPLIES / 7.3k RTS / 157k LIKES

"When'd you get in?" He calls Sapnap while sitting in his computer chair. Phone on speaker as he boots up his PC for the first time in weeks. There's a line of bottles on his desk, all of them empty or almost there.

"Not long ago, mom dropped me off. She's gone home now to get some sleep."

"Nice of her to pick you up." Sapnap's tone is off and Dream doesn't like it. His computer whirrs at him loudly.

"Wait, shouldn't you be sleeping? It's like three am for you." He asks.

"I should be sleeping. But there are bigger fish to fry than being asleep right now." The tone is too knowing.

"Yeah, it uh— have you spoken to George?" Dream surprises himself by being the first to rip the bandaid off.

The line falls quiet.

"Nick.." Dream urges.

"You're a fucking dumb idiot." Dream's eyes widen. "I mean first of all an airport bathroom? Come on—"

"I was, I didn't think—"

He's cut off by Sapnap. "Clearly! What is wrong with you?"

The bright light of Dream's home screen wallpaper flashes onto his monitors. It shocks him - it's someone's fanart of the three of them. George, Sapnap and him laughing together, their arms around one another's shoulders. Dream in the middle with George on his left and Sapnap on his right. He fixates on the image, vision blurring. This Dream is looking at George, who is drawn tilted in laughter, eyes squinted shut, his clout goggles stuck in his hair. This Dream with a green hoodie and mask on his head has no care in the world and his best friends in his arms.

"Dream?"

He blinks the brightness from his eyes, coming back to the conversation. "I— I panicked, I couldn't. I should have just faced the consequences, I know that. God, he hates me doesn't he?"

"Okay, I thought George was oblivious and I knew you were a dumbass but seriously Dream. If you think George hates you, you don't deserve his love."

The impact of this scuffed audio sentence from Dream's iPhone speakers sends him careening. He has to grip his own thigh with his hand to ground himself. "What. He..?"

"It doesn't take rocket science to figure that out. You're too wrapped up in your own angsty bullshit to actually see what is right in front of you. You left him Dream." The words puncture him. Sapnap is calm when Dream feels deserving of so much worse.

"I know." He's breathless.

"Did you even give him a moment to collect his thoughts after you ambushed him?"

"I.. No. I just. I was being selfish and impulsive and I just, I thought if I didn't kiss him it would ruin me, and if I did... It's ruined me anyway hasn't it?" Everything would have been fine. if he'd given it more time and if his thoughts hadn't been so centred on saving himself from the rejection he had expected. George loves him and Dream ran. He thinks of his hastily written script on the plane, he could have had that. He could have had it all.

" _Stop_ , stop it Dream. It hasn't ruined anything, you've just made this whole thing so much harder for yourself." Sapnap pulls him back from his spiral, to reality and Dream scrambles.

"I need to say sorry, I need to tell him, I'll call him—"

"No. You need to let him talk to you. No more rushing in and doing impulsive shit without thinking about the consequences." Sapnap reaffirms and Dream doesn't think he's ever heard this tone directed so seriously at him before.

"He'll talk to me? Do I wait? When will he talk to me?"

"Just, _dude_. Give him a little time. He's figuring it out. Go unpack or like go to sleep or something."

"Will you make sure he's okay? I don't know how to fix this."

"Of course I'll make sure. No one is asking you to fix anything, idiot. I think it's best if you just take some time for yourself."

"I know, I— I will."

"I'll speak to you soon, peace dude."

"Bye."

Sapnap hangs up. Dream stands shakily, looking around his room. There's a pile of clothes spilling out of his wardrobe, another result of his rush to leave for London. He doesn't have the energy to start tidying it now.

> ↳ our conversation that night, you in the kitchen and then the hallway. i was pushing you for answers and you wouldn't give in. did you know then? in your dream, you said you were reaching out for me. and i still don't know where to put that. i knew there was something wrong. you asked me to leave and so i did, but that's not what you really wanted, is it? how did i not see you?

  
  
  
  
In Orlando, it rains. Not monsoon-heavy, but vicious still. Invoking the typical confused glee of tourists and nonchalant shrug of native Floridians. When the rain starts pouring Dream stands still, a plastic Walmart bag and a crate of bottled waters in his hands. People pass around him, some kids stand under a nearby bus shelter and Dream has to swallow sharply.

Rain and skin meet as water seeps through his clothes to the bare skin of his shoulders. He barely contains a shiver. The touch an unexpected comfort. He lets it drench him.

Water falling down his forehead, touch tender. It travels further over fluttering eyelids and reddened cheeks. Dancing as it trails over the tip of his nose, moistening his chapped lips with its feather-touch. He lets it drench him.

Hoping that it fills him up. Hoping that the rain stops and he is left dripping. That at least this water will stay with him.

George in the rain is a sight to behold, charmingly bemused, so real and so alive. Dream recalls it clearly. He can almost reach out and touch the image in his mind. Water flattening his brown hair, it made him look slightly drowned and goofy. In sharply focused memory, it occupies Dream's mind now. It had been impossible to look away. He remembers all too well. George's brown eyes shining under the oily illumination of London streetlights and the fading glow of the dying sun.

This rain is some sort of punishment, heaven-sent, someone up there is laughing at him for sure. 

The rain in Florida is nothing like the rain in London.

A long time tradition in Dream's household, started by his mom and his older sister but almost always including him is watching dumb chick-flicks when someone is feeling sad. Started long ago, when his sister was still a teenager and got her heartbroken for the first but not the last time. He's a good brother, so he had offered his support and it turned out rom-coms aren't as terrible as he expected. He has a soft spot for films like Clueless and 13 Going On 30. They are just reserved for spending time with his family, of course, we can just ignore that one time he watched The Devil Wears Prada home alone and cried at the end when Andy throws her phone in the fountain and leaves Meryl Streep in Paris. Deciding that the path she was headed down isn't the one she wants. Taking destiny into her own hands. All this to say his mom sees him upon return Patches and she is insistent on sticking around his apartment.

Her motherly instinct had kicked in since the moment she picked him up from the airport. Dream puts his best face on, but it's not enough to dissuade her.

"Mom, I'm fine, honestly."

"I'm not a dummy. You don't have to tell me something is wrong for me to just know."

"I am fine. I had a great time in London, I was ready to come back is all. I missed you."

"You are not playing that card, though it does make me want to squeeze you again."

She does. Dream doesn't bother protesting. They watch When Harry Met Sally and Dream thinks his mom might somehow see inside his mind. 

He pretends he's not crying at Harry's outburst in Jess and Marie's new house about a coffee table that's really about his failed marriage. Or when Harry and Sally are watching Casablanca together over the phone talking about their shitty old relationships and moving on and Harry just _knowing Sally_ and being the last person either of them wants to talk to before going to sleep at night. He's totally not emotional as he watches them dating everyone but each other. Or Sally's blunt _"Harry, I can't do this anymore. I am not your consolation prize"._ Or them finally figuring it out in the end but taking so long to get there you wonder, how didn't they figure this out sooner? It was right in front of them the whole time.

His mom notices him, pulls him close. He tells her everything in a breathless outburst of speech and she tells him too kindly that he has messed up, that she loves him and that everything turns out alright in the end.

"How can you know that?"

"Years of experience. Nothing is ever set in stone." She's so matter of fact about it. "Even this film, in the first draft, Harry and Sally didn't get together in the end. Did you know that? Imagine how different the world would be if someone didn't have the change of heart. To give in to love and rewrite that last scene. You messed up sweetie, but this is your best friend and he loves you and he just needs time to figure this out. And I think that you need to take some time too."

> ↳ I've been thinking about love in film.  
>   
> Of love and being in love. and I imagine it like an old film reel, little snapshot scenes of b-roll footage: hands entwined, bodies close, hair and skin and warmth. You and me. And from these intricate scenes of intimacy, I see myself in love and being embraced by it.
> 
> There's an artificial coldness to reality. Sitting alone in my air-conditioned room is making me feel shaky, my skin tight and itchy. But there's calm chaos too. A messy room and I'm wide awake despite my tired eyes and these sleepless, restless nights.
> 
> And, god, I'm not asking to be a star in this film. Just a character in it. Who went on the journey, survived all three acts and came out the other end with something to show for it. A little character development, a cool new scar, just some morsel of understanding life and why I can't seem to get love right.
> 
> I think the problem is me. That when I auditioned for this role, in this story of you and I, that I expected more speaking lines or a bigger role than the one I landed. As though getting to be best friends with you wasn't enough. You know what they say about actors and their egos. And so I won't settle for this part I've been given.
> 
> I just want a moment, I'd settle for a deleted scene. For someone to change the script or call for a reshoot. To be more than some future video essay on YouTube about why these two characters were actually in love the whole time if you look at the subtext and how the writers were too much of cowards to actually commit to it. So that I can finally be one of these faceless film people and have you to touch and hold. To kiss and cherish. I've messed that up for us.
> 
> I hope the movie gets a sequel.

  
  
Instead of lying on his bed, watching the shadows dance with the spinning of his ceiling fan, Dream decides to stream. He messages Sapnap, telling him to join if he so chooses. Then starts up a stream with the intention of speedrunning, just for fun. Which he reminds the chat repeatedly before he begins.

It's almost too easy, slipping back into this comfortable skin of streamer, YouTuber. You don't have to think about things that are personal and with his donations turned off, Dream doesn't even have to worry about anyone bringing things up that he doesn't want to talk about.

There's this new thankfulness he has in the fact he's never face revealed. There are no expectations for him to have a facecam on, recording his every reaction and expression.

Sapnap joins thirty minutes in, less than a minute after Dream ends a good run early by falling into lava. Thrown mid-jump by a stray blaze's fireball.

"You're bad at the game." Is the first thing he says.

"Hello to you too." Dream snorts.

"You're so bad. This is what happens when you don't have hack clients to help you I guess."

"Stop!" Dream can't help but laugh in surprise. "You came here just to say that?"

"Nah I'm gonna stick around, bully you some more."

They're joined by Bad not long after, who always has things to talk about. Dream doesn't know what Bad knows, but he doesn't bring anything up. Not that Dream thinks Bad would ever bring up anything personal on stream.

Bad ends up reading questions from chat out while Dream keeps running. He realizes how much he's missed this - spending time with friends on stream and interacting with his community is so underrated.

Then, Dream gets a notification on his phone, he checks it absentmindedly. George has posted a photo on Instagram. Clicking without thinking, he's faced with the image of George's cat on his bed, his hand in her fur. Long fingers, disappearing into the soft density, a red sleeve cutting off the skin at George's thin wrist. Dream's own palms are too warm. He scrolls down quickly, it's captioned 'Cat.' and Dream can't help but snort - he can't believe George still hasn't told their fans her name yet. That's the thing about George, he is so dedicatedly private about everything. Dream knows too well how impossible it can seem to get information out of him. His face falls a little. He misses London, misses George's quiet reflections late at night.

There's a memory of Dream with a toothbrush stuck in his mouth, leaving the bathroom to stand with George in the kitchen as he waits for the kettle to boil for a cup of tea. In his memory, he can't quite remember where he stands, against the counter or next to the fridge.

"I miss living at home sometimes." George had said and Dream thinks the kettle was at the bubbling point of boiling. The light just clicking off to inform them that it had finished heating up. He's unsure of what was going on with the kettle because Dream could do nothing more than give George a questioning eyebrow raise, toothbrush obstructing him from talking.

"It's dumb. I used to spend all day in my room on Minecraft with you. But every night I would go downstairs at about ten o'clock and get a cup of tea and biscuits. My mum and dad would usually be in the living room and you had to walk through there to get to the kitchen. It's stupid, but if they were still up I'd make them cups too and sit with them for like ten minutes just talking about like coding and you and Sapnap. Before saying I was going upstairs to bed. And then actually staying up until like three am."

Dream knows he tried speaking but it had come out gargled by minty foam. George had laughed at him while he'd spit into the kitchen sink. "I didn't know that. That's nice." Dream had managed eventually, toothbrush clutched in his hand. George had shrugged and Dream must have looked starstruck by this little scrap George had offered him.

 _How do I get back?_ He thinks.

You don't. Is the answer. Their time together was as fleeting as it is memorable. Dream's carrying it with him though in the lint that fills his pockets and the mud that sticks to the bottom of his shoes.

It's getting further and further away the more time he spends thinking about London. In the seconds between then and now he has lost something. A dust speck really, nothing in the grand scheme of life. But here, in between the litter that lines the bottom of the backpack he carried with him to London and back, there are tiny recollections of memory that sustain him.

He knows something of himself has fallen to the ground, like a spare cent, that he is changing with all he loses and picks up. London is gone and though a one-pound coin sits in his pocket now, inevitably it will be lost to time.

He hopes that whatever is coming doesn't make him want to clean out his pockets completely.

"Oh my God!" Sapnap's screech makes Dream look up sharply. Minecraft is still open on his monitor and Dream is too late - _You Died!_ flashes across the screen.

"Ah! What even happened?" He drops his phone onto his desk.

"What are you doing, Dream? You just stood still and a freaking zombie spawned and killed you!"

"I looked away for a second!" Dream flails a little, the shock of Sapnap's yell has his heart hammering.

"Dude it's been like a minute!"

Bad is laughing at him loudly, he thinks he hears the words 'doofus' and 'muffin' in between the gasps for air.

"Sorry, sorry. I was texting someone." His hands go back to his keyboard and mouse and Dream exits to the menu, clicking to create a new world. "Sorry chat, let's name this world something for good luck this time."

"Name it Sapnap."

"No, then I'd have the worst luck, duh."

"Ooo, George just posted a picture on Instagram guys!" Bad says and Dream sighs. This stream hasn't distracted him as effectively as he expected it to.

It's weighing on his mind, a constant presence. A stream of consciousness ' _you fucked up, you fucked up',_ turning like a carousel befit with shining lights and brightly painted horses, galloping and twirling in gaudy technicolour. Impossible to ignore. The guilt, the embarrassment. Thinking how if only he had stood a few seconds more. No, if only he had gone about it completely different. Taken his time and told George. If only he could go back to the beginning of his trip and they could have had the time together to figure it out. He's left George on another continent - shoved a backpack full of emotion at him like _"here, have this"_ and then ran on his merry way. Dream can hear the fairground music that serves as the backing track to his own voice, _' you fucked up, you fucked up.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter song: for you - willie j healey
> 
> got to admit i was cackling a little when i wrote dream's fanfiction-y attempt at rewriting his confession. like this thinly veiled excuse that it is somehow smp plot PLEASE. dream is so dramatic here and i'm very happy about it.
> 
> this is a very,, fragmented. i know it's a lot of different styles packed into one but i think that suits the mess dream is in pretty well :)


	13. is there a place i can go

  
"What have I missed?" Quackity asks when he joins the call and despite everything, George's heart leaps for the split second he thinks it's Dream who has connected. But there's been radio-silence between them for the past day.

George thinks he has Sapnap to thank for that.

"A lot," George begins, "I'm planning on going to Florida," he tells them all for the first time.

To Quackity, and to Sapnap and Karl who were already in the call discussing the next Tales From The SMP stream.

It's the first time he's said this plan he has out loud. It's no longer a thought swimming around in his head, it's real and conceptualised and right in front of him.

"Yo, have you and Dream not spent enough time together? I'm starting to get jealous." Karl starts.

"Exactly Karl, this is totally unfair, when are you going to visit us?" Quackity continues.

George flounders, settling on just staying quiet until Sapnap speaks up. "Guys, just leave it," He brings it to an end, tone stern.

"Why? What's going on?"

"George?"

Their voices immediately switch from the usual lilt of joking sarcasm to genuine concern.

George knows he's the one who brought it up. But he prickles. The idea of being so open suddenly daunting and impossible. "It's nothing,"

Then: "Sapnap you tell them."

" _Me?_ What do you want me to say?"

It's fine saying that he's going to Florida, because they'll find that much out anyway. But having to explain himself, let them into his thoughts and feelings. It's much harder than he dares consider. He'd rather someone else do it for him.

"I don't know. It doesn't even matter." George falters, the room is too small and his bed is still unmade, there's a pair of socks that aren't his at the corner of his room mixed in with his own laundry. Even Dream's scent lingers, on the pillow next to George's. "I'm going to see Dream, just because I feel like it. That's all you're getting."

"No, no, no. Now we definitely want to know. Sapnap knows. Unfair." Karl whines, pawing at this mystery now he's picked up the scent of it.

"Yeah, cause George likes me better than he likes both of you." Sapnap teases, clearly trying to move them all on.

" _So_ not true." Karl rebuts.

Quackity scoffs at the insinuation. "Liar, you're full of it Sapnap! George tell them you love me the most."

"I hate all of you." George groans.

"No! They're such dimwits, am I right George? This is why I'm your clear favourite." Karl panders and George wonders if he can get something out of this if he pits them all against each other to find the ultimate George simp.

It would probably wind up being self-imposed hell if he did try.

"Karl— okay, whatever."

"So you admit I'm your favourite?"

"No, I'm not saying that. None of you are my favourite." George rubs his temple, anticipating a headache.

"Dream is, clearly, that's why you're visiting him and not us." They're all trying to guilt him into spilling, which definitely won't work.

"Tell us, George."

"I'm not saying anything."

They start a rolling chant of, _"Let me in please!"_ \- it gets too annoying to bear for any longer. George may not give in to guilt-tripping, but straight up causing him a headache in real-time is another story.

"Fine! Sapnap, just tell them." George concedes.

"Me? Okay sure." He takes a few seconds to pick the right words and order them into a neat little sentence. "Basically, George is in love with Dream, Dream is in love with George. Dream kissed George in the airport then ran his ass back to Florida like the little wimp he is."

George's face burns, he would never have even been able to get through explaining it that efficiently without awkwardly stuttering and dancing around the situation.

There's a simultaneous _"What?!"_ from Karl and Alex.

The uproar is unanimously extreme, it's deafening.

"George? But, you guys, _You and Dream?_ Hello? How did we not know about this?" Karl muddles through his half-formed questions.

"Holy shit. I think I'm hallucinating. This cannot be real." Alex laughs nervously.

George hates them. He loves them completely (he'd never admit this of course) but he hates them so so much.

"Guys, you're being dicks." It's Sapnap who is being reasonable here, _Sapnap._

"I hate this. This is the worst conversation of my life. Yes, it's real." George confirms, voice shaky. He feels light-headed, he needs something to do with his hands.

"Okay. okay. I'm coming back to earth, I'm thinking. It's processing." Karl blunders on.

"But like, the memes? All of the memes George? And this entire time?" Quackity is in clear shock.

"No! I didn't even. I didn't realize until, like, three days ago."

"And Dream?" Karl asks. George doesn't have an answer for that one. He has no idea about what Dream's thinking, of what he's doing right now on the other side of the Atlantic.

Sapnap is the one who has the answer. "Oh, a lot longer than three days ago that's for sure."

George sits back in his chair carefully, God. _If he knew._ Things could be so much different. They've wasted so much time. "Do you know how long?" The words leave his mouth and he's desperate for answers.

"Dunno. He doesn't exactly talk about it. Like a year, I guess? Maybe longer."

There's something heavy holding his heart, wrapped around it in knots and twists, pulling him down. George sinks in his chair.

"What the hell." Quackity voices a thought lifted directly from George's mind.

"He kissed you, George?" Karl asks, genuine bewilderment in his tone like he too is still fitting together these pieces along with George. He can't put himself in his friend's shoes and imagine what they must think of this. Probably that George and Dream are absolutely fucking dumb. Which George can't disagree with.

"He's a little pussy."

" _Sapnap._ " George defends quickly.

"What George? He ran away, what do you want me to say?" Sapnap stubbornly replies.

"Nothing maybe?" George is thankful and he agrees for the most part with Sapnap's sentiment. Dream is a little pussy. But George thinks he understands somewhat the volatile enigma that is Dream's mind. What would he have done, if the tables were turned?

Well, to be fair, he probably wouldn't have kissed Dream in a bathroom.

He's barely unspooled this love, the loose thread spills from his chest, into his hands, tangled and daunting. He didn't run. He stood his ground and though he knows he has no answers to the question Dream had urgently pressed against his lips. George wishes he'd reached out, stopped Dream in his tracks before this mess could grow any bigger. They're unbearably out of control now and George is determined to fix it.

"Just calling him what he is." He hears Sapnap mutter.

"Wait, wait." Karl interrupts. "So why are you going to Orlando?"

"Because I want to talk to him properly." In the hours since Dream left him, it's all he's thought about. He knows what he needs to do next and he's planning for it with more consideration than Dream ever gave him. "I need to think about what I want to say and I don't want to do it on the phone."

"This is so cute, you're farming aw's from me, George." Karl giggles and he's thankful these are his friends despite the way they get on his nerves most of the time. Who else could he go feral with until six am? Or make dumb song parodies with and have files of ugly photos of each other just because it's funny?

They hear Quackity sigh. "Man, I still can't believe we knew nothing about this."

"Wait?" Karl gasps sharply, "You guys were sharing a bed this entire time! Oh my god, it's so obvious now. George are you sure you only figured this out three days ago?"

"Shut up. I was oblivious okay." George brings his hands to his face even though no one can see him turn red in embarrassment. Karl is cackling in genuine surprise as he finally connects the dots.

"They what? They shared a bed?" Quackity yells, George winces. "Why am I the last to know this shit! Did you know Sapnap?"

Sapnap laughs loudly at them. "I knew before both of you."

"What the fuck is going on? I think I'm in shock."

"Yeah, me too," George replies quietly.

He sees Dream's tweet on his timeline and he doesn't think much of it at first.

Can brush it off by scrolling past it and liking a few dumb memes and some of Karl's replies to celebrities asking to play Minecraft. But then in the same way as soon as he notices how easy it was to scroll past it without reading, it's all he can think about.

He goes to Dream's second Twitter, reads it closely and it's so typically Dream. He's always thinking about work and content somewhere at the back of his mind, is probably trying to slip quietly back into it.

George doesn't do more than sit at his PC to appear on other peoples streams, convinced into another GTA stream with Quackity and then him and Ponk cause chaos on the SMP for old times sake and because he's been neglecting that friendship for a little longer than he's comfortable admitting. He plays CSGO with Sapnap on his alt Twitch and snorts at the memory of a much younger him screaming his head off at the game, he still screams now but that's unimportant. He's had character development in other ways that negate the screaming.

And it must look like he's not thinking about Dream at all in this time. Off having a laugh with his mates for hours on end. But Dream is a constant and he's as big of a presence in his absence as when he's there.

Soon, George thinks. He's booked the flight to Orlando and he knows what he's going to say to Dream when he gets there. It's just a waiting game now until he can fly out.

So he sits at his PC on other peoples streams, because the Go Live! button with the facecam and the inevitable questions about where he's been and where Dream's gone is too daunting to handle.

_He dreams of a man in a porcelain mask. Tied back with pale-blue ribbon, done up in a bow that is covered and hidden by tufts and curls of golden-brown hair. And this is awfully familiar, isn't it?_

_It's the same as before, the man is wearing that green cloak over his shoulders, his hood pulled back, clasped together by a simple loop and button tie. Still covering that black-purple armour. Then of course, in his hand is that axe and George knows how it gleams with that same shining darkness as the metal he wears._

_They stand facing one another in the midst of nothing. George can't make out the ground beneath his feet in this grey-rainy blur surrounding them, with the wetness of what must be rain in his eyes. In front of him is a man that is surely Dream because he's wearing his mask - with hairline cracks fit back together like a poorly repaired vase. And that smile, crudely painted on, off-centre just slightly._

_But here is where things differ. The man doesn't move, stood still on the spot. This time George has to draw closer through the fog._

_This time George's hands don't take Dream's hands, no their steady path rises upwards to the mask on Dream's face. One hand grips the cold edge and he has to step closer for this next step as his other hand reaches around the back of Dream's head to pull loose the pale-blue ribbon._

_Something weighted touches his wrist, George looks down. Dream's bare hand is holding onto it, the grip more anchored by gravity than any force behind it._

_George stills for a second, but the curiosity to lift the mask away, to see Dream's face is overwhelming. He lets the ribbon come free, tugs carefully to pull the mask away._

_What he's expecting is the face of a man he knows not in this dream world, but something solidly corporeal and familiar._

_Instead, there is simply nothing._

_He pulls back the mask and realises there is no face at all. There is no man, there's no weight against his hand. He's holding this mask in the middle of the fog and he is completely on his own._

_He doesn't even fall. The nothing is still and empty and he is alone._

George wakes up in his bedroom and he thinks it isn't so different from his dream.

His sleep schedule's as fucked up as usual. It's seven am and George hasn't slept in over twenty-four hours. Just finished streaming with the feral boys, some usual pop off madness. It's two am in Orlando and he knows because he's got it saved to the clocks on his phone and maybe because he's memorised the time zone difference. It's not that much longer until he fixes this or at least tries to. But he misses Dream. God, he just wants to hear his fucking voice. The quiet voice he gets when he's as sleep-deprived as George, the words slow to fall out of his mouth and missing syllables because he's not got the energy to pronounce things properly. You can hear the roughness in the back of his throat because of a day of laughter that's made it raw. George wants Dream as sleep-drunk as he is to whisper in his ear and drag him to bed.

He has to remind himself that it's not much longer he has to wait. Force himself to go sleep before he does something stupid like call Dream just to hear him, press the phone to his ear and hold him there, close as George can get.

"I need to tell you something." Sapnap hesitates.

"What?" George isn't worried, but he puts his phone down on his desk, untucks his legs from underneath himself and waits.

"I may or may not, have kinda spoke to Dream, about some things. About you."

"Sapnap. I told you to let me handle it." George huffs.

"I know and you're going to. But he was freaking out, dude. I just needed to get him to chill."

"Is he okay?"

"Not really, he needs you. It's me and you who watch out for him and he just has me right now." George cracks one of his knuckles and sits with Sapnap's words.

"Not forever. Not even much longer."

"Obviously, but he doesn't exactly know that. I told him you needed some time."

"Oh..." George swallows. "Thank you."

"That sounded like it hurt to say, dude."

"It did a little. This is all... new. Normally we're like, being mean to each other or something. I don't think we're ever this serious"

"Things will go back to normal soon enough."

George finds he can't agree. He doesn't want normal, or at least the old version of it. Now he knows what he can have and he wants it more than he's wanted a lot of things in his life.

Dream's streaming. George gets the Twitch notification on his phone and stares at it uncertainly. There's a half-packed case on his bed, clothes folded carefully and he stills in front of it. He wants to know, to hear Dream for a moment. He stops himself, George needs to finish packing his things. His cat breaks his stare-off with his phone, she has climbed onto the bed and sat in the middle of the suitcase, on top of the neatly folded things.

"I can't pack you away in there." He says bluntly, looking at her like he's expecting a reply. She sneezes then swats at the air in his direction.

"I would if I could," George tells her, moving forwards so he can stroke her, he takes a picture with his hand in her fur and posts it. Trying not to think about who might see it.

**dreamingeorge**

> **Anonymous** said  
>  _What are your thoughts on the Dream stream moment from earlier today? I can't be the only one who noticed the timing between George's Instagram post and Dream letting a zombie kill him?_

> Oh anon, you're opening a can of worms here. I've been thinking about this for a little while, but here is my full analysis of Dream's trip to London and why I think it confirmed DreamNotFound is real. (We'll get to the Instagram post thing at the end I promise). Full rant under the cut!
> 
> Let's start by establishing a timeline of events in chronological order. I'm going to be breaking down each moment and what it might mean for DNF.
> 
> Dream announces he's in London by posting those adorable pictures of George half asleep on the train (Underground? In the UK). Sapnap replies to this post with _'WHAT THE FUCK??????'_ And then proceeds to 'go dark' for being left out of the trip.
> 
> What does this tell us? — Dream And George wanted to meet up without Sapnap for whatever reason. As they left him out of their plans.   
>   
> Why would they do this, he's their best friend? — I strongly believe that this is their first time meeting up as a couple and didn't want Sapnap to third wheel them (poor soul).
> 
> Dream then liked multiple tweets asking him to confirm he was in London, though he doesn't reply to anything that night. — Something I've noticed is that whilst they've been together Dream and George have barely interacted on Twitter or streamed. Most obviously, because they're too busy spending time with each other.
> 
> The next interaction we get is a day later when Dream posts photos on Twitter of George getting attacked by a bird - how did he still manage to look cute?  
>   
>  Let's not forget Karl Jacob's reply to said tweet - _'GEORGE_ 😍😍 _'_ and Dream's reply to that: _'Back off he's mine.'_ I mean, come on. They practically ship themselves at this point.
> 
> Then we don't get anything for a while until Dream and George appear on Karl's Jackbox stream. Sharing a mic! Which broke Twitter, and confirmed for sure that they weren't lying about the trip. There were too many moments in this stream! THEY NAMED THEMSELVES DREAMNOTFOUND WHAT MORE CAN I SAY? Anyway, I suppose to an extent they do lean into pandering when playing Jackbox and their name definitely helped that. So maybe we could shrug that off.   
> But wait, there's more! Then we get their answer to the prompt ' _Damn I failed No nut November because of...'_ which was...... GeorgeNotFound.
> 
> Which George responds to by saying "That was Dream." And Dream replies to him with: "It's true." — I'm linking the clip here.   
> Do y'all hear the smugness in Dream's voice?? I'm done. Man's really said _'I failed No Nut November because of GeorgeNotFound'._ I have no words.
> 
> They lost to 'Dream and George Gay Moments Compilation' from Karl. Which, I'm just saying... but their friends love to talk about DreamNotFound. Sometimes even more than Dream and George do.
> 
> I don't want to get too caught up in Karl's stream that night, so I'll just rush through the rest by just saying that Dream and George bicker over their answers like an old married couple for the rest of the night. The thing that I can never get over is how soft they are with each other, even when they're messing around. It's so cute, I'm sick.
> 
> Then, absolute radio silence for like five days. They don't stream, they're barely active on Twitter. We get a George YouTube video filmed before London and that's about it. Again, I'm just saying, bf's spending time with each other...
> 
> You know what I'm going to talk about next. The _Minecraft But We Share A Keyboard_ stream. I'm going insane, I've watched the vod too many times. There were So. Many. Moments.
> 
> They were so flirty this stream, it was sickening. Bickering again (it's their love language), then George asking Dream to whisper something in his ear.
> 
> THE _"WE WENT TO BED SO LATE LAST NIGHT. I'M STILL TIRED."_ FROM GEORGE. ARE YOU KIDDING ME??? Do yall want to announce you're dating any louder... Dream managed to cover it up pretty quickly by saying they were on call with Sapnap. But come on now, we all know the real reason they were up so late. And it definitely didn't include being on call with Sap ;) Then George quickly moves on, clearly trying to sweep it under the rug. If he had face cam on, can you imagine how red he would have been??? I can practically hear the blush in his voice.
> 
> What happens next is too much. I'm so done with their obvious flirting ugh, so Dream fully puts his hands in George's hair to mess it up. Like, guys, you don't need an excuse to touch each other, you're dating! The rest of the stream they literally go out of their way to be flirty on main.
> 
> Afterwards, we get nothing, we go into dnf drought yet again for three days. George goes MIA, Dream tweets a couple of things. But that's it.
> 
> Finally, we get the tweet that Dream's back in Florida. ;-; Nothing mentioning George, and George is inactive.
> 
> I'm for one at a bit of a loss. But I have some theories. If we view the trip as George and Dream's first meeting in person and as a couple. Then this is either _a)_ they broke up and Dream went home or _b)_ they're still together but Dream sadly had to leave.
> 
> Onto the last few pieces of analysis. George hasn't streamed since the Shared Keyboard one, but he makes a few appearances. First, he streams GTA with Quackity, Karl and BBH but is distinctly quieter than usual. To the extent that the other's notice it and called him out for not 'popping off' with them. He told them he was just tired and there's a distinct shift where he clearly tries to keep up with their energy so they don't bring it up again. Now, through _a)_ we can view this as he's sad about the break up with Dream, which poor bb :((   
> or _b)_ He's sad that Dream is gone and is missing him, which is awwww :') I'm sincerely hoping for the second one!
> 
> He appears on Ponk's stream on the SMP, which was so cute, we haven't seen them together in so long. George will happily mess about on the SMP as long as it doesn't include lore LMAOOO. He seems okay here, if a little subdued I guess.   
> Then there's Sap's alt Twitch stream. Which they're usually more chill and less hyper on anyway. George didn't talk much with Sapnap and Punz, mainly keeping quiet and being very bad at the game. What was unusual is he didn't respond/retaliate much to Sapnap's goading that he is trash at CS. Which is very unlike George.
> 
> That's pretty much it for George. Subdued and awkward since Dream left London! Bless him.
> 
> Onto the Dream stream that literally just happened. First of all, I've missed Dream streaming so much :') it's been too long holy shit. Analysing his voice though, I can't be the only one who noticed how rough he sounded? Dream mentioned that travelling had made him a little sick. But again, think _a)_ and _b)_ , it could also be because of one of them...
> 
> Sapnap and BBH join the call. They keep it light. Dream has donos off, BBH asks some questions from the chat. Nothing significant really. When asked how the trip to London was, Dream just says _"It was good. We had a fun time —uh, yeah. I don't know."_ He moves on pretty quick, you okay there Dream? Missing George??
> 
> I want to get to the end, so I'll just finally get to the Instagram post, _The Death by Zombie situation_. Twitter clocked it pretty much straight away, and I've already seen the clip so many times and people analysing what it means. Here's the clip. To summarise it, George posts on Insta, I'm certain Dream got the notification on his phone and abandoned his game to look at it. He goes dead silent for a solid minute, even as Sapnap tries to get his attention. To the point that a zombie can take all his health and kill him! Like what the hell?? How do you not notice that a zombie is killing you?? I'm certain that Dream was so distracted by George that he forgot about his game. I mean, we all saw George's hand in that photo, right :)
> 
> Anyway, this brings back _a)_ they broke up and are pining or _b)_ they're still together and are pining because they miss each other.
> 
> I know this is an analysis post. But I have no definite conclusion yet on which I think is the most accurate! We're just going to have to wait for another stream or post I guess and wait for them to interact. Anyone pls let me know if you have any thoughts, leave me an ask or something. I'm very interested in your opinions!

_#dreamnotfound #dnf #look what you started anon #I've pulled out the red string #we are fully analysing this shit #the whole london trip was a fever dream #u cant convince me otherwise #ask tag_   
**—15 notes**

George finds a scrap of folded paper, caught between his bedside cabinet and his bed. It's a folded over post-it note, easy to misplace. He unfolds it, smoothing out the creases. There aren't many words but those written on it speak of whispered wants, of soft sincerity. He presses it against his chest, speechless.

He calls his mum the day before the flight.

"Hello?" George greets when the call connects and there's no immediate reply. He stands leaning against the counter in his kitchen, picking at the peel of an orange. He puts the phone on the counter, on speaker.

"Hiya, is this a social call or are you wanting something?" His mum's cheery voice asks him.

" _How do_." George hears his dad's typical Yorkshireman greeting. It makes him grin, his dad never changes.

"I was just checking in, is that dad?" George removes the sticker from the peel and presses it to the back of his hand for no logical reason.

"Yes, you're on speaker! We're in the car, just been shopping."

"I can call back later if you want." He tells her.

" _Breaks, love._ " George hears his dad say to his mum, voice stoic as usual.

"I saw it, we're slowing down, aren't we? Sorry George, your dad is backseat driving again. It's fine we can talk now."

"Okay. Erm, so you know how Dream came to see me in London?" He brushes the ripped off bits of peel into a neat little pile and carefully pulls the orange into halves.

"Of course we do! It would have been nice if you had brought him to see us, George. We would like to get to know him as well."

"He's worried we'll embarrass him, aren't you?" His dad chuckles.

"Yeah dad, you guys are very embarrassing. But, no. I'm going to see him in Florida in a couple of days and I wanted to ask if you could mind the cat." He's pulled off a segment of orange and put it into his mouth. Chewing slowly.

" _Traffic lights, love._ "

"I see them! George, he's only just left you can't be missing him that much already. I know that long-distance is hard but—"

"What?" George swallows.

"Long-distance relationships can be very tough, I get that. When your dad and I were at University we only saw each other at Christmas and over the holidays. But it can work. You just have to call each other every day and it's so much easier nowadays with all those apps and FaceTimes."

"That's not what's happening. Wait. Wait, wait wait. Do you guys think we're... going out?"

"Well, yes. What else were we supposed to think?" His mum says like the question is ridiculous.

"What is happening?" George laughs but he's not finding this that funny.

"George, you can't be telling us you and that boy aren't going out." George is beginning to think he's the only sane person he knows.

"How long have you thought this?" George has to ask them.

"I don't know, a year or two at most, right love?"

He imagines his dad has shrugged in reply because there is no audible confirmation.

"We're not dating! How, why did you guys even believe that?"

"I thought it seemed fairly obvious. You talk every day—"

"I talk to Sapnap every day." George interrupts.

"Yes, but we talk differently about people we love and people we're in love with. I'm your mother, I think I can tell the difference."

" _Give way, love._ " His dad says, calmly.

"I'm stopping, I'm stopping." His mum replies and George is still reeling.

"I didn't talk about him like I was in love with him though!" But he's thinking, _did I?_

"Then I'm very sorry if we've misconstrued, you and Dream are lovely friends and I know that you care for each other very much."

"It's not- you haven't exactly misconstrued. I am in love with him, a little bit."

"Oh, darling that's wonderful! Isn't it wonderful?"

"Very wonderful, love."

"It's why I have to go to Florida. There's this whole mess and I really don't feel like explaining it again."

"You should come round for dinner tonight then if you're going away. It's been ages seen we've last seen you."

"Okay, yeah. That would be good actually."

George ends the call after his mum goes on to rant at him about visiting more often and making sure he's taking care of himself. 

Finally alone, George looks down at the orange pieces on his counter. Somehow not as enjoyable without someone to share them with.

The extent to which George will let this trip be the same is this: he is showing up in Florida unannounced, on Dream's (literal) doorstep. But that's it. Everything else he's doing his way. He's going to make this right.  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter song: is there a place i can go - trudy and the romance
> 
> We go a little meta this chapter. And I'm going to have to thank ImperialEvolution and their comments on last chapter for inspiring me because I could not stop thinking about how Tumblr and Twitter would react if the trip to London was real. There would be so much analysis of the posts and the streams, we would not be hearing the end of it. People would most definitely be using it as evidence that DreamNotFound is real.
> 
> i feel obligated to say, this fic is ending soon. i haven't fully finished the specifics of how many chapters are left. but just to keep in mind i guess <3 ty for all the support on this fic. it has been so wonderful <33


	14. i wanna be yours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a long ass chapter. buckle up :)
> 
> cw for nsfw themes.

He gets up at nine am even though his flight isn't for another ten hours. He can't lay in bed with his eyes shut for any longer. George is restless, so he stands in a slow stretch. Lets his eyes roam his room. The neatly packed suitcase sits by the door to the living room, his shoes beside it. The lighting is low and the sun, if it has risen, hasn't bothered to make an appearance yet.

The room is grainy with darkness, with the curtains pulled closed. George pulls them open, the view of the tiny courtyard full of bins to the back of his flat is nothing interesting. There are rows of them, no grass just paved slabs and high brick walls. Roads make up both side of George's flat and noise is a universal constant. It's either accept it, or buy really good noise-cancelling headphones. George doesn't mind the noise, it's much better to deal with than total silence.

He lets his feet take him to the living room, then the kitchenette. George boils his kettle and wastes time scrolling through various social media apps, feeling every second of the morning drag. He has a cup of tea while looking out the window, where he comes across something he had failed to remember. On the windowsill, sits a little plant in a terracotta pot.

When was the last time George watered it? 

It must have been that first day Dream was in London. It had been a crispy curled up thing - more brown than green. It should still be. But something peculiar has happened. There are newly sprouted leaves, a much paler white-green, barely unfurling. The soil not as parched as he expected. George knows he hasn't watered this plant in weeks. It should be dead, right?

Unless, he wonders... Dream could have been watering it for him. He touches one of the delicate new leaves with the pad of his finger, lets it bounce back into place once he removes it.

Somehow, without George's notice, Dream did this. Probably taking a glass from the drying rack by the sink (there's always one there, washed but not put away) filled it with water and poured it in. George is struck by the idea of it. 

His tea is cooling in his hand. 

Dream comfortable in this space, noticing a little dying thing on the windowsill and taking care of it when George had forgotten.

George waters it too, before he showers and gets ready for the day. The smile that has formed never leaves his face.

"George, did you see any of Dream's stream? The other day." Karl Jacobs is eating something crunchy, George hears him pop some into his mouth after he finishes speaking, the satisfying crunch of what he thinks are crisps. Or chips, Dream's tried to tell him that's what they're called way too many times. Even though crisps is clearly the superior word. 

Whatever, he's not getting into that now.

George looks over at the FaceTime call, where the phone is balanced on his suitcase, raised handle allowing it to stay upright. Karl is sat back in his own chair, upper body and the hint of a raised knee visible. There's a bag of Lays in his lap.

George is sat twiddling his thumbs, waiting to be picked up by the Uber driver who will take him to the airport. Karl is being used as his distraction.

"No. I didn't." He saw the notification that Dream was live and stayed away.

The flat is empty with just George in it. He'd dropped his cat off at his mum's last night and it's strange how quiet it feels with just him breathing within the walls.

"Did you hear anything about it.. on Twitter?"

Karl is dancing around something, George is in the middle of retying his shoelaces for the fifth time, but at this, he sits up. Let's the half-knotted lace fall loose.

"Why?" Something has dropped in George's stomach.

"Uh. Jeez. I don't want to be the one to tell you this." Karl is a blur of movement as he stretches forward and brings the phone to his face. Up close now. George grabs his own too, needs to feel the weight of the device in his hand and Karl's voice coming from it.

"You clearly want to tell me." George raises an eyebrow, Karl is smiling in that fake-funny way that tells George he's trying his hardest not to spill.

"You're right." He sighs eventually. "So I think some people have maybe connected a couple of dots between something that happened on stream with Dream and something that you did."

"What?" George is confused.

"You posted on Instagram, right? The pussy pic." Karl expands.

George grimaces. "Karl, why would you word it like that?"

"Sorry." Karl giggles.

George just sighs, moves the conversation along. "Yeah, so? I posted a picture of my cat."

"Dream saw it."

George barely flinches, he's aware that posting things on the internet means any number of people may see the posts he makes. So, Dream happened to be one of those people. That's pretty much inevitable. "Okay, I'm sure he did."

"Dream saw it on stream, in the middle of a speedrun."

George snorts. "Did he get a bad time or something? Are people reading into it?"

"He stopped for a full-on minute. And a zombie killed him. Who isn't reading into it?"

"But I mean, that's not too bad. That could have been anything."

"People think he died because of your post."

Take that one out of context, George thinks.

"Well, okay. That doesn't mean anything. He probably just..." George tries to reason. But he doesn't know what words to follow up with. Why would that make Dream let a zombie kill him?

"He said he was replying to a text," Karl informs him.

"There, he probably was." George shrugs easily.

"People don't exactly believe him. Do you believe it?"

"I haven't seen the clip. I don't know. It's Dream. It's fine." He takes a moment. "What do they think it means?"

"I didn't mean to worry you." Karl immediately separates. George watches him drop a hand into his hair, squashing it a little as he rests his limb there. "It's the usual speculation you get. Put it with the rest of the shit that's on YouTube and Twitter."

Karl fluffs his hair out again, lets his hand fall away. "It's nothing in reality, dude. It's a theory and we both know half the evidence for _'DreamNotFound'_ is taken out of context or literally just you two doofus' playing into it."

Karl pauses, but he isn't finished. "But it means more to the people who know. _For real._ Those moments might have been fake or you two exaggerating. But that's past tense, right? There's something real to it now."

"It's been real to Dream for at least a year. That's what Sapnap said." George says because he's trying to comprehend what Karl is telling him and still in the process of going through everything he already knows.

He hasn't even had a chance to think about anything being made public, outside of himself and his friends. He's not one for making things like that known. Saying George and Dream like their privacy is an understatement.

"What are you going to do?" Karl asks.

"What I was always going to do. If it's not addressed, people won't think anything of it." He shrugs easily, but his pulse is racing.

George watches the clip on the ride to the airport. Dream's view of a surface cave. Entering to quickly grab some iron because he didn't get enough from the Iron Golem at the spawn village. He mines a piece and then stops moving. He doesn't tab out, there's no notification sound. But his mouse flicks a little then goes still, as though when he removed his hand he knocked against it.

There is Sapnap and Bad talking, a zombie growl and Dream is silent. He starts taking damage. Sapnap shouts his name, his voice that high, cracking, hysterical laughter at Dream disappearing. Then Dream's excuse, _"I was replying to a text."_ He tries to hear the lie in Dream's voice, like the Twitter threads he's now seen have assured him is there. But it's a well-executed cover-up that George could believe it if he wasn't so certain. He goes to his phone, opens Instagram and pulls up the photo.

This is what distracted Dream. George's cat, his hand. Nothing out of the usual for his Instagram feed. Nothing Dream hasn't seen before. Dream looked at this and something happened that made him pause. George's anticipation to reach his destination grows stronger.

Airports are boring and stressful and George just wants to get on his flight. He stands next to his gate, waiting to board. Currently inserting coins into a vending machine to buy a drink with his phone pressed to his ear. Sapnap's on the other end of the line, the call unexpected but George was more than happy to accept.

"I'm just saying, he's probably not going to know what to do with himself. Dream imagined you being in Florida with him a lot different." Sapnap sighs out.

"Well, me too. It's going to be fine. You agreed with me that this was the right thing to do, remember?" George grabs his water and scans the seating area. He finds a corner to take the call in without feeling as though half the people also waiting for the flight can hear his every word.

"It is. I'm not saying that. He's just going to cry like a little baby when he sees you."

"He's not going to cry." George rolls his eyes, the water bottle is cool to the touch, covered in a layer of condensation. He leans back against the wall he has found, letting his backpack drop from his shoulder and sit on the floor between his feet.

"George, this dude cries at everything. I don't have enough hands to count how many times I've seen Dream cry." Sapnap's outside somewhere, or in his car. George can hear traffic on the other end of the line and he thinks a Quadeca song playing lowly in the background. Definitely in his car then.

"It's fine. I'm not going to make him sad enough to cry, idiot."

"You're putting past him that he won't happy cry? There will be tears." Sapnap assures, George just doesn't believe it.

"He's not that... emotional." George shifts uncomfortably.

"Just because no one's ever seen you cry before." Sapnap scoffs at him.

"Yeah, I'm not a baby like you and Dream. You guys will cry over anything."

"I don't cry." 

"Oh-kay. Sure you don't." George scoffs at Sapnap's insistent tone now. He more than most people knows how secretly soppy his two friends can get.

"Are you going yet or what? You're being annoying." Sapnap huffs.

"You called me."

"I didn't expect you to answer. I thought you were gone already."

"Then why'd you even call?"

"I was going to leave an uh.. a voicemail."

"Saying what?"

"Nothing, it's unimportant."

"Sapnap."

"George."

"Tell me."

"No."

"Why?"

"Because you suck."

"Was it something nice? Can you not say it to my face?" George grins.

"Can't see your face, asshole."

"So, yes. What nice things were you going to say to me Sappitus?"

"I was going to tell you that I hope you and Dream don't work things out and that you're an annoying little freak."

"Were you gonna cry a little, piss your pants?" He mocks, because he can't help but mock Sapnap. It's instinct.

"Shut the fuck up dude, I don't know why I bother, I don't!"

George's snarky reply is put on hold when he hears an announcement for his flight on the intercom. Sees the people outside his gate start to hastily form a line. "Wait— My flight's boarding. I've got to go."

"Shit. Okay. Message me when you land." Sapnap asks of him, his voice once again sincere.

"I will."

"Bye-bye. Good luck."

"Bye."

Florida is hot. The humidity in the air hits him as soon as he steps off the plane, onto the jet bridge. It's palpable, it would be choking if he didn't have such steady determination to step forward. Following the stream of people to Border Control.

It's taking forever to get through TSA and get his bags. George is at Sanford Airport and he's going to have to get a taxi into Central Orlando. Just more and more time in Florida that's not with Dream. Though, this was the next quickest flight he could get out. So he's counting his blessings.

There's a family in front of him who George had watched board the plane in London. They sat a few rows ahead of George on the flight. The kids are that age where they're excited by everything but easily irritated. The parents are keeping them happy as they wait to see the TSA agents by telling them how much fun it's going to be to go to Disney World and see Mickey Mouse and George just wants to go see Dream. The air conditioning inside the airport is the perfect contrast to the heavy warmth of the outside. On the wall, as he waits to go through security, George looks at this giant hand-painted mural of Florida's swamplands. The parents distract their kids by telling them to point to the gators hidden in the murky-painted waters between reeds and grass and spindly trees. It's sort of a gaudy, tacky thing to look at. Unexpected art to find at an airport and greet all those arriving. But they've also got a picture of the President hung on the wall so maybe this is just the way America does things.

Eventually, he's a free man. Walking to the taxi rank and asking a driver to take him to Dream's address.

He texts Sapnap once the car is moving, gets another good luck text back straight away.

They drive on the wrong side of the road here. It's a little bit unsettling. The driver's seat is on the wrong side of the car and everything. And the driver's a friendly enough guy but George is too awkward and nervous to make much conversation with a stranger.

Still, it does turn into an easy distraction from the silence that has left him feeling like a live wire. 

"I mainly see families, not a lot of young people by themselves." The driver says, eyes on the road, but head tilting a little as he talks. He's an older guy, a fedora sat on his head, a southern drawl, as thick as molasses as he speaks. Something melodic about it.

"I'm visiting someone. He lives here. It's sort of a surprise actually." George's leg bounces, the driver laughs heartily at him. Clearly amused, or just in a good mood today.

"Hmm. That's nice of you, to come all this way. He must be someone special."

"He is. I don't know what I'd do without him."

The driver hums thoughtfully, gives his wheel a firm tap.

"I'm sure it'll be fine, whatever it is you're worried about."

George's mouth opens in shock. Is he that obvious?

"You're sweating buckets kid. Though I suppose that could be the heat, huh? And you haven't stopped moving since you sat down."

"It's, complicated." Is what George settles on saying.

"What isn't? If you're coming all this way to figure it out, I'm sure things will turn out just fine."

"I hope so."

George takes this stranger's reassurance and clings to it desperately. He watches the road and the heat beating down on it. Making a mirage of shimmering heat-haze across the tarmac. Impossible, untouchable water-like illusions.

Finally, they turn off the Interstate and head into something more like suburbia. George thinks there is maybe nothing more vastly different than an American block of houses compared to a British one. Here a single home taking up where an entire row of London townhouses would fit. All of them fully-detached. Most of them fitting that American iconography of the white-picket-fences, long-driveways and front porches.

They stop in front of a house that could be any other on the street.

"Well, we're here kid."The driver puts the car in park.

This one is Dream's house. George steadies his breathing.

"Do you mind waiting here? I'll only be a couple of minutes." He asks.

"Sure, sure." The driver smiles at him reassuringly.

If he lays here long enough, Dream thinks he might simply just become part of his bed. He doesn't even think there's anything wrong with that, getting to lay down all day and not move anywhere or do anything. Except for Patches, who he will get up to make sure has food and water.

And okay, this wallowing in self-pity look isn't very good on him. Dream is aware but he doesn't do anything to change the fact he is wallowing. He scratches an itch on his bare stomach, listens to his certified Sad Bangers playlist - on a private session so every person on Twitter doesn't know this current pool of sadness he's soaking in.

He checks his phone for messages, there's a couple waiting for him. Nothing urgent, not what he was looking for.

You see, Dream's finally mastered the art of doing nothing. 

He could win an award in it and in his speech he'd thank his parents for their unwavering support. He'd talk anecdotally about being the kind of kid who could not sit still for five minutes, how it's taken him many years to get where he is today. But finally, doing absolutely fuck all comes easy to him. 

Lying in bed is not boring! It takes practise and dedication. He'd end his speech by addressing directly the people out there like him. He'd be an inspiration. Remind them they too can sit and do nothing, if they just commit hard enough.

If you believe in yourself, you too can lay about in the woes of heartache, just like him!

There's a knock at the door and Dream, who has just adjusted the pillow behind him into the most optimal comfortable position, ignores it. It's probably just the mailman.

Back to our regularly scheduled pining, Dream skips a song on his Spotify because it's not quite fitting the chill sad vibes he's going for today.

There's another knock, more insistent. It makes Dream pause. His phone dings, a notification, so he turns it over, frowning.  
  


**GEORGE**  
I'm outside your house  
  


 **GEORGE**  
Answer the door  
  


 **GEORGE**  
KNOCK KNOCK  
  


 **DREAM**  
is this a joke?  
  


 **DREAM**  
George, please don't do this.  
  


 **GEORGE**  
Don't be an idiot. Let me in.

"Oh shit."

The house is a mess, Dream's a mess. his stomach lurches terribly. he flies out of bed, tripping over the sheets tangled around his legs and stumbles to the floor in a pathetic heap.

"Shit." He scrambles to free himself. His hands fly to his phone again.

"Shit, shit, shit." He mutters.

**DREAM**  
give me a second  
  


George texts back as he's pressing send:  
  


 **GEORGE**  
The sun is trying to kill me.  
  
  
Dream ignores whatever the fuck that means. He's only wearing boxers. He needs clothes ASAP. There's a pile of them on his floor, Dream shoves on a t-shirt and sweatpants and hopes they're not too gross. Is there time to call Sapnap? He doesn't think so. There's not even room to panic because George is at the door. Dream is terrified and ecstatic.

He gives himself a second to stare at his reflection in the mirror. He looks like shit. Tired despite spending his days sleeping. Pale - that's probably the shock. Dream rubs his hands over his face, scrubs his eyes. As he's legging it down the stairs, he runs a hand through his hair. Somehow managing to not trip over his own feet.

It's three in the afternoon, the sun is high in the sky and it is lethal, especially to a pale-skinned Brit used to sunlight that barely shines at all. George stands a few steps back from the doorway when Dream pulls it open.

"You're here." Dream's in genuine disbelief. George stands in front of him with the bad haircut that he somehow pulls off and stubble on his jaw, his eyebrow with the scar that has a story that takes forever to get George to tell. His mouth, which Dream has actually kissed! Lips pink and perfect and they look bitten like he's been nervously chewing them on the way over. Dream could go on, he really could.

"I'm here." George is smiling and Dream is in too much shock to return it.

"Is this how you felt?" He manages to squeak out and George just looks amused by him. He's stood on Dream's doorstep, feet on the concrete and he knocked on the door. Dream wonders what he'll look like standing in the middle of Dream's living room, his kitchen or his bedroom. He swallows.

"Pretty much, if you're feeling like you're doing a drop on a rollercoaster but never-ending that is." George snorts.

"Exactly that.." Dream falters. "Are you— do you want to come in?"

"No." Dream's stomach drops, as it would on a rollercoaster, George is right.

"Oh."

"It's not that, I got a hotel." George's smile cracks open, Dream swoops and soars.

"You did? Of course, you did." He can't quite get his head around this. He thinks he gets what George meant in London. Seeing someone where they shouldn't be, where they've never dared to step before. It's throwing him through a loop.

"I just wanted to show up on your doorstep. Let you know I'm here."

He's smiling still and he looks a little flustered. Awkward as Dream feels.

"George, I'm—"

"Don't say sorry, Dream." George interrupts and Dream's entire thing, the self-composure that he'd hastily tacked in place as he flung himself down the stairs to answer the door, it sort of just all collapses in on itself and it doesn't even matter. George is looking at him in the Florida sun.

"...sorry." Dream can't help it, he's been apologising in his head for the last few days and they've all built up. He needs to get them out. He winces.

George snorts.

"Where are you staying?" Dream asks after clearing his throat. He's trying to be polite here. Because he doesn't know how you step into a conversation with _'I kissed you, told you I loved you and left you in an airport bathroom. Hear that you might maybe love me too? Will you confirm that or can you just let me down easy, please. I won't ask anything of you ever again.'_

"In the city, International Drive."

"Shit, that's gotta cost a lot."

"I'm being a tourist, I thought it would be nice."

"Yeah, it will be. It is nice." And George stops to look at Dream, grin slow and impossibly perfect. "I might need a tour guide though, I don't really know where the best places to eat are around here. Do you know anyone who might be up for the job?"

"I— I might know someone." George has shocked him into smiling. Pure nervous energy is racing in Dream's veins. Here is George in front of him and it's more than he could ever ask for. "Do we, are we going to have a talk, about what happened?" His eyes feel wet, he has to blink away the sudden blurriness. 

"Yeah, we need to talk about it. But not yet. I'm going to go, for a little bit. The driver's still waiting." And Dream notices for the first time the car parked by the roadside. 

"I just needed you to know I was here." Then he's looking at Dream with so much certainty that it is unmistakable. "That I came here for you Dream."

"George." He knows how he must sound, he's so gone it's not even funny.

"We're going to talk. I'll message you when I'm back at the hotel and we can meet up properly. You can be my tour guide for a while and then we'll talk. Just not yet."

"You know what you're doing." Dream swallows, and it's just a fact. Stating the obvious. George seems so calm and Dream is so not.

"One of us has to." It's not said with any venom but it stings Dream nonetheless.

"I— sorry."

"It's okay Dream. I'll see you soon."

"I'll see you, George." Dream says and watches George walk back down the drive, winded by all of this and completely in awe. He needs to call Sapnap, he needs to sit down before his legs give out from under him.

George is in Florida and everything is going to be fine.

He cries when he shuts the door behind himself. Stood alone in the hallway. Laughing through tears in sheer disbelief. Dream's felt tired for so long, heavy with the weight of what he feels and has done. It's still there, the weight. But George is here and it's eased some of the pressure. He stands between rooms, lingering until the walls come back into focus and he can feel his feet, planted on the cold floor.

He calls Sapnap not long after.

"You knew. You totally knew didn't you?" Is the first thing Dream says, and the smile can be heard in his voice.

"Knew what?" Sapnap replies in barely passable monotone.

"Shut up." Dream snorts. "I can't believe he's here!"

"Who is where Dream?" Sapnap bullshits.

"George is here. You know he's here."

"Oh, that's what you're talking about. I thought you might be talking about someone else."

"How long have you known he was coming?"

"I don't know, since he told me." 

"Which was when?"

"Uh, just under a week ago." Sapnap sighs, casually.

"Holy shit." Dream runs a hand through his hair, it flops back onto his forehead once he lets go. Grown long from London and still uncut.

"You good dude?"

"Better now." He huffs out a laugh that is more an exhale. "It's all going to be fine."

"Of course it is."

Dream showers, changes into actual clothes and texts George and Sapnap separately. George to confirm what they're doing and Sapnap because the idiot won't stop teasing him about his reaction to seeing George, asshole.

They end up going out when the sun is already setting so that while they're walking about it isn't as hot and George doesn't immediately combust like the sunless vampire he is. Dream's leg bounces the entire drive to George's hotel, he tries to focus on the road, turns up the song on the radio until it numbs the part of his brain that is overthinking everything.

George is already stood outside the hotel when Dream pulls into the parking lot. Approaching while Dream completely fucks up pulling into a spot, halfway between two spaces. Looking like an absolute asshole to anyone who might see it. He doesn't straighten out, because that just feels even more embarrassing. George doesn't seem to notice, or if he does, he doesn't care enough to comment on it.

He waits by the side of the car for Dream to get out.

"Hey." Dream squints, the sun is in his eyes a little and he's left his sunglasses in the car. But he's all in now, no turning back for anything.

"Hi." George's eyes are honey-coloured in the light.

Then, George hugs him and Dream's eyes widen in surprise. He's warm and smells like the cologne he always uses. Dream's seen the bottle, half-empty, on top of one of George's cabinets in London. By the time he's no longer still in shock, George is already moving away. Smiling awkwardly.

"Erm, do you know anywhere we can go?"

"Want to just walk for a bit, see what we find?" Dream looks around. Right, he was supposed to be the idea man here. He might as well be in London, that's how little a grasp Dream has on his surroundings right now.

"Okay, yeah." He says anyway. George follows Dream's lead. They leave the hotel parking lot to the sidewalk. Shoulder to shoulder as they go. Directly opposite George's hotel is the Orlando Eye. Dream smiles, it's smaller than London's, obviously. Only built when the area was developed a few years ago.

"I can see it from the window of my room," George notices Dream looking towards it.

"Do you want to..?" Dream asks. He's never been up it either. 

"Yeah, let's do it," George replies, smile wide, and so they start walking towards the building that fronts it.

"Um, so how was your flight?" Dream asks, and internally he's already cringing because he doesn't know what to say. It's so easy to talk to George, but right now he's having trouble getting words out of his mouth and thoughts into his head. George looks good in the Florida sun, with red already colouring his cheeks and nose and the warm glow of the setting sun on his skin.

"It was so long. They had movies and stuff you could watch, but I couldn't um, couldn't concentrate on any of them very well."

"Flying's the worst. I get that." Dream nods along agreeably.

"Don't think it was flying that made it hard to concentrate Dream." George gives him a look, says it in that dry ironic tone.

Dream blinks. "Oh."

"I slept for a couple of hours though." George moves on, doesn't wait for Dream to catch up and comment on what he just said. "There was turbulence at one point, that woke me up."

Dream is struggling through that last thing. Of George admitting that so nonchalantly, expecting Dream to be completely fine with it. There's a long silence, it's Dream's fault. He's taken too long to reply.

"So, what's the deal with airline food?" Dream mutters, awkwardly.

George snorts, eyes-rolling. "Shut up, idiot."

Something settles after that and Dream tries to move on as George has. They wait at a crossing, for the lights to change so they can get over the road and George looks to him.

"Do you really get fined for crossing a road when it's not at like an official crossing here?" George asks.

"Jaywalking?"

"If that's what it's called." George shrugs cluelessly.

"Yeah, roads like this especially." Dream nods at the three lanes they have to cross.

"That's so weird. America is weird."

"Don't get me started on how weird your country is George." Dream laughs, there are plenty of things he noticed when he was in London that don't make sense at all. Before he can start listing them, halfway over the crosswalk, Dream's hand brushes George's. Arms touching from shoulder to elbow. And Dream doesn't know if it was him, stepping into George's space or George into his. But as Dream corrects his course, he feels something touching his hand. George reaching out and squeezing his hand quickly, tangling their fingers.

As soon as the contact is there it's gone. Dream slows, George has pulled ahead, reached the other side of the road and he looks back at Dream as he catches up. There must be something in Dream's expression because he laughs at it shortly.

Dream just looks away, embarrassed and speechless.

"Anyway, where do we go from here?" George raises a brow once they're stood side by side.

"You're the worst." Dream says instead.

"What's that, sorry?" George is grinning, wolfishly. Dream hates him so very much.

"The Worst." Dream emphasises.

They go into the building to get onto the Eye and Dream finally gets some cold air back into his lungs.

"They have a Madame Tussards here?" George is looking over at the entrance to it at the left side of the building as you step inside, past some sort of VR car racing experience that flashes loudly.

"Yeah, do you wanna go in?" Dream asks.

George raises an eyebrow at him, lip curling in amusement. Mouth caught on his teeth as he smiles. "Ew no. Don't you think wax figures are kind of creepy?"

"Very. Could be funny though."

George shrugs."I'd rather just go on the Eye."

So they do. It's not busy at the moment, only a handful of people walking around and by some miracle, they get a pod to themselves. They're smaller than the ones in London. The two of them step inside, Dream following after George who watches the doors shut behind him. Slowly, they rise. Dream's always had this slight fear of heights, it doesn't really bother him if he doesn't think about it. He cast it from his mind easy enough in London. But he's still uneasy when the door seals and they start moving. 

George snorts, Dream turns to him.

"What?"

"Stripper pole." George points to the white circular seat in the middle of the pod, where there's a metal pole through the centre that is very clearly supposed to be used as a support railing to hold onto.

"You are so immature." Dream is laughing though. George's laughter is so hard it comes out in gasping hiccups. He's clearly amused himself. They're a quarter of a way up by the time they settle down again.

"This is cooler than the London Eye," George says decidedly.

"How? There's so much more to look at on the London Eye."

"There's plenty to look at here." And George is looking right at Dream as he says it. "I could look at this view forever."

"You—" Dream is frozen to the spot and the wheel is still turning but everything seems to stop. George is backlit by a burnt orange sky and he's watching Dream with amusement in his eyes. 

Dream can't keep letting him get away with this.

"Can you see your house from here?" George turns away, one of his hands falling to the railing, Dream watches his movement, takes in George's side profile, glancing back at Dream.

"Probably not." Dream clears his throat.

"Point some stuff out to me, I want to know what I'm looking at."

"Okay." Dream says after a long second, taking careful steps to George's side. He needs a moment to get his bearings, remember any of what he sees that isn't George.

"Um. I think that's the Epcot Centre, over there. Can you see it?" He's pointing to a spherical shape in the distance, it's always reminded Dream of a giant golfball.

The Orlando skyline is pretty flat, going on for miles, with the cities highlights and attractions broken up by green wetland and lakes.

"I think that's Universal Studios, over there." Dream moves his directional point and George follows his gesture. Dream doesn't know what's happening here. George is all put together and direct, saying things Dream has only imagined he'd say, never expected.

Then in an instant, everything seems to get brighter. Dream blinks, the Orlando Eye's lights are turning on as the sky darkens. Sunset is quickly sinking, colour slipping from the sky. The colours of the wheel go white then red and back again. They're halfway around to the top, the world only getting smaller beneath them.

"Have you been to all the theme parks here?" George asks him and he's not looking at the skyline at all. Quietly watching Dream.

"I guess. I used to go with my sisters and my brother a lot in the summer, or with friends, if we had the money."

"That's so cool. When I was a kid we had, like, nowhere cool to go during the day."

"Have you ever been to a theme park before? Do they even have them in London?"

"They have some, I went to Chessington on a school trip once when I was fourteen, I don't really remember it."

"What the fuck is a Chessington? That is so British." Dream laughs.

"Shut up. I don't know." George rolls his eyes, smile warm and embarrassed. "I went to Winter Wonderland with Ponk and our mates that one time. If that counts."

"You went on rides didn't you?"

George shrugs, a slight rise and fall of his shoulders.

"That can count."

He turns away, Dream gets to stare at his side profile again. He watches George's eyes as they scan the scenery.

"Don't you think it's weird, being in another country?" George asks eventually.

"Not really. There are differences, but not that many." 

Dream doesn't think he could forget this picture of George in front of him for as long as he lives. There was a time when all he had was footage of George through a screen, pixelated and digital. He can never go back to settling for that.

"Yeah, but don't you realise how big the world actually, like, is? As a concept, as a whole." George turns back to him, turns his back completely against the view. Leaning on the railing, head tilted to look at Dream and wait for an answer. He's got this wild look in his eye and Dream can't begin to unravel all the things George says.

Dream mirrors his position, their sides pressing together. There's no fake yawn manoeuvre as Dream puts his arm on the railing around the back of George. He just does it and it's the boldest thing he's done so far. It feels like finally catching up.

 _"How big the world is.."_ He echoes George's words, gives himself a few seconds longer to think. "I guess most of the time I'm too busy thinking about other things to worry about it."

"What like?"

And Dream doesn't have any hesitation as he replies to George.

"You."

George looks like he doesn't know what to say. 

"I didn't expect that."

Dream blows out a huff of air, "Me either to be honest."

They settle on food next, now that the air has cooled down considerably. Walking down International Drive until they settle on some casual family sports grill. It's got a roofed outdoor seating area, open to the night and people passing by. The walls are lined with large screens showing American sports that George doesn't have half a clue about. Where there aren't screens there is sports memorabilia. A mixture of different ones as though they couldn't quite settle on the one, a signed baseball bat next to a framed football jersey. Photos of players George doesn't know anything about. They could pass him on a street, sit on one of the tables nearby and he wouldn't have a clue.

"Who's playing?" He asks Dream, looking in the direction of some American Football game happening on a screen.

"Uh.. Miami Dolphins versus Los Angeles Rams." Dream tells him. George blinks cluelessly, despite asking.

They eat food and George drinks what Dream calls, _'real American sweet iced tea'_ because apparently, the bottled peach iced tea George buys from Tesco at home doesn't count.

And Dream's missed just sitting and talking about stupid shit with George, it feels easy. Feels how it always has. Maybe because his feelings for George are just so inherently a part of him and how he has acted for so long. 

He remembers a time over a year ago. Back when George didn't even know his face and Sapnap could still laud it over him. When he was so scared of giving in to what he knew had seized his heart. Where he put himself through the process of figuring it out, compartmentalising the parts of Dream and George and _DreamandGeorge._ Time passing and passing but the feelings never left.

Making things easier by passing flirting off as friendly jokes and hoping to dear god that George never picked up on his sincerity. 

And Dream knows that friendship and romance are so tangled for him. That he would say the same shit to Sapnap, share the same things and give to them in the same amounts.

Because friendship is just choosing another person as yours. Choosing them over and over. Having an unspoken connection and dedication to one another's lives. Choosing to share life with them. So Dream thought that if he was in love with this one friend, surely he had to be in love with them all. That love and friendship are a sliding scale and he just loved George to the furthest degree the scale could go. He loves in extremes.

Something changed. He was in love with George and it uprooted his whole internal understanding of how love and friendship work.

They sit and share a meal together and so much time has passed between Dream realising and George figuring it out. Yet George still makes the same dumb jokes he always does and Dream still reacts to them. Dream thinks it means that love has always been there for them, they just needed all this time to figure it out.

"You are not better at chess than me George." Dream doesn't know how they got onto this topic, only that he will not be proved wrong. George can argue it however he likes, Dream will not budge.

"I'm better than Sapnap, so." George shrugs, attitude like he's already won and that just makes Dream want to prove that he hasn't even more.

"You are not implying I'm worse than Sapnap right now!" Dream exclaims, laughing. He sits back in his chair.

"You don't play often enough! I'm saying I play Sapnap all the time and win against him every single time. He's trash. You played Sapnap that one time and lost, remember? So logically, I am the best chess player." George is so self-righteous. It makes Dream roll his eyes impatiently. 

The problem is the two of them always have to be the one in the right. It's fun to argue because neither backs down even when one knows they are in the wrong. They just like riling each other up. There's something cathartic about hearing George's voice affected and seeing the colour rise to his cheeks, biting back just as lethal. Knowing George can take as much as he gives.

"He wouldn't stop gloating about that." Dream remembers the match, he'd been very tired that day. "That still doesn't prove I'm worse! I had _one_ bad game with Sapnap _one_ _time_. I could beat you, easy!"

"We'll play again then. I'll still win. I bet you five gift subs I win." George is so cocky, Dream huffs.

"We can do better than that, fifty gifted." Dream is overly confident, as cocky as George is.

"Not fifty. Five is more than enough."

George is always the same, he'll commit but still but he won't stake money on it. Dream rolls his eyes in clear view.

"You wouldn't spend fifty gift subs on me if you lost? Sore loser much." He teases.

"No. Five is more than enough for you."

"George, you literally have more subs than me." Dream knows for a fact that there are more people subbed to George on Twitch than him. George knows this for a fact too.

"Ten?" George negotiates.

"Twenty-five." Dream counters.

"Twenty?" George tries.

"No! I'll go back up to fifty, I swear."

"Twenty-five. I'll settle." George resigns.

And Dream laughs at him, a mocking scoff. "If you were so confident in your skill why do you even want to lower the number idiot? Worried you're going to be the one who has to pay out?"

"No." George frowns.

"Fine." Dream rolls his eyes. "Here, I'll gift you fifty if I lose George. That is how confident I am. You can do whatever you like. But I'm putting my money where my mouth is." Dream challenges, eyes narrowed.

"Back to the original offer then. Five is more than enough." George says loftily.

"George!" Dream lets out a bark of laughter.

And George is laughing at Dream and with him and they laugh together for a long time. Conversation overflowing as though the week that they weren't together was a year apart.

Dream is in his element talking, explaining things he's passionate about like the speedrunning tournament he's planning on setting up with Punz and a few others speedrunners that are interested in the idea.

"In a way, I'm almost glad the speedrunning shit happened. Not that it was very fun, but I feel better now I'm on the other side of it, like I can move on to doing bigger things."

"You literally speedran on stream the other day, you've hardly moved past it."

And Dream stills. George must realise what he's admitted because his eyes flash.

"You saw that, huh?" Dream laughs nervously.

"I maybe saw something."

Dream swallows. "I care about you.. a lot. I've been punishing myself while we didn't talk. And I saw that picture and it... surprised me. It wasn't even the picture itself. It was the caption." Dream shakes his head, a wry smile on his face. He's looking down at the table, fiddling with the paper wrapper from his straw.

"Cat?" George smiles carefully.

Dream groans, head falling back as he huffs in embarrassment.

"I just— I missed you. Remember when you told me about being at home? Going downstairs at night for a cup of tea with your mom and dad?"

"Yeah."

"I like it when you tell me stuff like that. Like I'm seeing inside _The Enigma That Is George Not Found_."

George makes eye contact for a good few seconds, Dream sinks like a ship going under.

"You don't tell me everything either."

Dream hits the ocean floor, sand is unsettled by the impact, blinding his vision.

"I know. I'm fucking terrified of you." His voice has gone shaky.

George nods. "I'm very scary."

Dream huffs, embarrassment colours his cheeks. "Shut up. You're not scary, I'm just... scared of you."

"Makes sense," George says, same agreeable tone.

He breaks though, a smile tugging at his mouth as he catches Dream's eye again.

"You're so dumb." Dream sighs.

"Yeah."

The, _You Love Me Anyway_ goes unspoken but is understood in the way George's eyes sparkle and Dream has to look away, overwhelmed by the intensity.

"I found something that you left behind in London," George begins. All serious and nervous-looking when Dream glances back at him.

"What is it?"

It takes George a second, his jacket is on the back of his chair and he reaches around to get something from the pocket. Out from it, he pulls a tiny, folded piece of yellow paper. Dream knows it in an instant.

"I wanted to give it back to you." And he's careful with his gaze as he hands it to Dream. Lets their hands brush in a way that is not accidental, pressing it into the centre of Dream's palm.

"You found it." Dream closes his fingers around the paper.

"You must have dropped it, or..." _Dot dot dot._

And so Dream begins to tell the story. "You remember we went into St Paul's?"

George nods, watching closely as something begins to unfold.

"Someone had stuck it on the wall. I don't know who or why. It was in the Whispering Gallery. I noticed it as we were leaving and I took it."

A tiny square of yellow, stark in contrast to the old walls and dark wood. Moments after Dream had considered confessing and George has saved him the trouble of overthinking. If he had done it then... Imagine if he had told George then.

"There was this night." And the story becomes less about time and place and more about feeling. "You were sleeping next to me and I couldn't stop thinking about it. Just repeating the words in my head. You've read it, right?"

Of course he has.

"I couldn't tell you that I— I couldn't say that I loved you. The words just wouldn't come out of my mouth. Even when I knew that you wouldn't hear me, whispering it to myself. It couldn't change anything if I did say it then. But if I said it out loud it would change everything. Or it would change nothing. It would change me— this makes no sense." Dream laughs nervously, self-conscious of his rambling. He runs a hand through his hair. "It'd make everything I've been feeling so much more, real."

George swallows, Dream watches the movement. He continues, "Then I blurted it out at the airport and—"

There's loud cheering a table over that throws Dream off course and if we go back to that boat metaphor, he's sunk to the bottom of the ocean but a current has taken hold of his drowned parts, thrashing him against the rocks and sand in the depths of the turbulent waters. Disturbing his decent.

"This isn't the place to talk about everything, is it?" Dream blinks, he takes a sip of water to get rid of the dry ache in his throat.

"Come back to my hotel."

"George." And his voice is weak, scared he's pushing too far. Even though George is the one who offered in the first place.

"Dream, don't be weird. We're going to talk, in private." George snorts, and it's not like Dream was thinking of it in that way. But now he is a little, a lot.

"Nothing would be weird if things were, y'know, weird." He blabbers and George is just tracking the journey Dream's face goes through, the wince as he finishes speaking.

"I know that. You're the one being awkward about this."

"I can't believe this is happening to me." Dream huffs, collapsing in a dramatic mess against the table. They both know he means, how did Dream become the awkward one in this situation? How has George somehow gained the ability to know exactly what needs to be said?

They pay the bill and go.

George grabs Dream's hand again on the walk back and not that Dream's counting, but he holds it a few seconds more. 

Dream runs his thumb over George's hand before he can let go this time.

He follows George as they walk back to his hotel like a lovesick fool.

George's hotel room is basically the same size as his flat in London. Dream tells him this as they step into it. It's tiled all the way through, and plain in decor but nice enough.

"No it isn't." George frowns because his living room-kitchen is twice the size of this kitchenette with a sofa in it. He is extremely insulted Dream would think so. He scuffs his shoe on the tiles, they don't creak like his floors at home. 

Dream had only said it to be annoying in all fairness. They're incomparable, George with his dorky Harry Potter and Star Wars trinkets and the really weird mugs in his cupboard. His bookshelf which is less book more shelf for yet again more trinkets. The sofa, sunken and cosy. The leaky tap and the buzzing fridge, small but not at all claustrophobic. 

George's bedroom with the constantly messy sheets, the warm whirr of his PC, the light in the morning and his cat curled up on the pile of clothes that need washing.

In this hotel. There is little to say about the interior. Here is a room with magnolia walls and tiled floors. Off to the side another room with a bed and a bathroom that is accessible through it. Made to be easily functional, not a home or somewhere that invites you to stay longer than the allotted time booked for.

From the window, which Dream looks out of, you can see across the I-Drive, to where the Orlando Eye is lit with colourful neon lights. It's pink-purple now, shifting between colours slowly, a bright spot in the full glossy darkness of the night sky.

Dream spins back around, George is sitting against the arm of the sofa, just watching Dream. His eyes are dark in thought.

"You are the stupidest idiot I have ever met in my entire life." Is what George says, his cutting gaze meeting Dream's. And it's not at all what Dream is expecting.

"I know." He falters.

"You know why I'm here Dream." His voice is steady.

"I do?"

George nods. Then, "We need to talk about everything, properly."

"I should finish what I started earlier."

So he does.

"I came to London because I—" Dream wrings his hands together. Here he is, standing in front of George, backlit by the pink-purple light of the Orlando Eye and saying everything he has kept secret for so long.

"I realised how I felt about you a long time go. I thought I had accepted it for what it was. And I did, I could just keep being your best friend, you are my best friend. But I don't know, I reached this point where all I wanted to do was see you, to tell you. I don't do shit in half-measures." Dream grimaces.

If you can imagine it, picture the wreckage of a ship washed ashore. Broken and fragile, it knows that any strong enough wind or wild enough storm could turn it to nothing but splinters and driftwood. Inside it sits valuables no man has ever plundered. Along comes a wandering explorer stumbling into the spilt guts of this boat's remains. On hesitant foot, he comes searching, as most curious explorers would. For lost treasure. He treads carefully, as mindful of himself as he is of the old ship he wanders. The boat is hesitant and afraid, the last time man tried to conquer it, it went careening sideways with holes in its sides. Lost to time. But this man is not like those who would have it destroyed. He knows the value of old ships, recognises the history and the memory that lives within them. And the ship is thankful that someone has found it. that there is someone that knows of its voyage even in this state of existence. That finally it is being seen. A daunting, scary thing and yet the ship allows the explorer to learn it.

"—I remember booking the flight, I remember that night and it wasn't even anything out of the ordinary. But I just was so frustrated and I wanted to tell you so badly. I booked it and got on it thinking I was going to arrive in London and just tell you, fuck the consequences." He was thinking of an end of movie scene, not realising he was just stepping into the beginning. Look at him now, reciting an unpractised monologue, stood in front of this singular audience member.

"But then I was just struck with how stupid that whole idea was for nine hours. I didn't know how you felt, we'd never even met before George. I was crazy."

"So I told myself, I'd let you see me, I'd stay as long as you'd let me and I was still thinking that I'd tell you when the time was right. When I was certain and before I left London."

The next part comes out much, much quieter. "I still couldn't."

"I realised that night in the kitchen," George tells him carefully, an aside that makes it clear that George is not a member of the audience at all. He's stood on stage like Dream is. 

Dream knows. He nods in understanding. "It was so selfish and stupid, what I did." He lets out a shaky breath.

"Why did you run?"

"I'd already made my mind up about how you would react. I wanted you to react badly I think, so I'd have an excuse to run. But you didn't, you wouldn't. And I ran anyway because I'm the one who couldn't handle it. I wasn't even ready."

"You surprised me."

"I just, I was thinking of myself. I kissed you for myself, I ran to protect myself. I just kept thinking, that this was it. I'd been in London this whole time trying to accept that I needed to tell you I— that I loved you. Then I ran out of time, and then I ran. I am sorry. I really am George."

"Don't be sorry. You don't need to be. You're not selfish, you were just scared and we— we just didn't get the time right."

It takes a moment.

"And now?"

George smiles, Dream crumbles. If he were a shipwreck, broken up by the ocean floor and washed ashore for wandering explorers. He would also be the splinter-sized pieces of wood that have become part of the sand, no different from the rest of the rocks and debris that make up the sandy beaches floating from shore to shore. 

"I've only got this room for two weeks." George comments.

"My house has a bed."

It's George's turn to crumble and Dream revels in the reaction. George looks away first, rolling his eyes at Dream's grin.

"Don't you have a spare room? I can sleep there."

"The bed's, uh. Broke."

"Broke?"

"Completely."

"You're an idiot."

Dream's just smiling, helpless. This is going better than he could ever have expected.

He realises he hasn't touched George this entire time and he doesn't know how. Dream doesn't know what George wants of him, doesn't want this to be anything like that bathroom in London. He doesn't want to push his luck.

"Can we— can we forget that was our first kiss. I ruined it. I wish I could change what happened."

"I know you do. But we can't change it. It did happen." George tells him firmly.

"It was so shitty of me, I'm sorry. I didn't warn you, I didn't ask you if it was okay. I was so inconsiderate and idiotic and—" He's rambling, vision gone a little fuzzy at the edges.

"Dream."

"I wasn't thinking—"

"Dream."

"—what?" His voice breaks into this soft little word, blinking carefully as he looks to George for answers.

"I don't want to forget what happened. We don't have to forget to move on from it."

"We don't?"

"We just have to make up for it."

"What?"

And so now George is standing when seconds ago he was sitting. But there's nothing rushed as his hand takes Dream by the jaw, fingers framing his chin, guiding Dream's mouth down to his.

It's the slightest of kisses. Nothing like before. Dream's eyes are wide in unblinking shock and George moves back slowly. Smiling so sweetly that it's not sweet at all. Dream is lost in the brown of his eyes this close and the way he can see each individual eyelash - not quite black. This close he sees in full detail the freckles on George's face and Dream wants to kiss him there too. 

"Is this okay?" George whispers and Dream can feel the air on his face. He's gone all warm at George's words and something has swooped in his stomach.

"Yes, yes." His brain is scattered and George's mouth upturns by another fraction, something dancing in his eyes. Dream's heart races.

"Then it works better if you help too." Dream can feel the words against his own mouth.

"Oh." Dream sighs and their lips connect for the first time, properly.

How foolish he was to compare George to gods. George is incomparable.

George leans into Dream and Dream melts right into him. It's messy like most first kisses are. But George tastes like sweet tea and his hands have migrated to the back of Dream's neck, fingers threading into the hair there. Dream is unsteady with the sheer weight of feeling, it breaks the kiss apart too soon.

"You—" Dream's voice catches. There was probably a sentence in there to go with that but it gets lost somehow. This is nothing like the first kiss. This is nothing like anything.

Dream isn't that much broader, but he's taller and that extra mass should anchor him better to the spot. Yet he finds himself against the wall next to the window. Not exactly pressed into it, but George is weighted against his front. Dream's chin tilted down, mouth hovering over George's. Coloured in that pink-purple light, aglow with it.

"What?" George is smiling, mouth shining.

"George." He says instead and George's grin grows, he kisses Dream through it, their noses bumping at first, head tilting to fix it. This time Dream eases into action. His hands settling in George's shirt, stretching the cotton, pulling him even closer.

Dream's in disbelief, raw shock, as George's mouth moves against his and he deepens the kiss. George makes the move to slide his tongue into Dream's mouth and Dream is overwhelmed. George kisses with the assured certainty of a man who knows what he wants. Dream lets George take this and run with it. He doesn't want to stop, now that he knows what he can have.

He wants George against the sofa or the bed. To keep kissing his pretty pink mouth. The sofa is the closest. He takes George by the shoulder's, guides them to the furniture. Watches George fall back onto the cushions, eyes fluttering, lips parted. Dream just takes him in, the sharp line of George's jaw, clothes dishevelled, hair falling over his forehead. Staring up at Dream and waiting for whatever happens next.

"You're so perfect. Have I told you that yet? How fucking pretty I think you are."

And it's George's turn to be speechless.

Dream's cheeks burn red. "Sorry, I uh— yeah."

He lingers awkwardly for a few more seconds, doesn't know what to do with himself.

"Come here, idiot." George huffs and Dream can't say no to him. Dream sits on the sofa next to him and he's crowded immediately, George settling over him, sat in his lap. There's never been a more perfect sight. Dream takes George by the thighs and pulls him closer.

"I've been wanting to do this for so long." Dream's voice is shaky. He didn't even mean to speak but somehow the words have found their way out of his mouth.

"How long?" George's gaze is hard set on him.

"You know how long."

"Yeah but how long have you wanted to kiss me?"

"I don't know. Feels like forever. This feels like a dream."

"Dream's dreaming." George grins and Dream doesn't know how he can even stay snarky, because Dream's got head empty, George brainrot and he really, really can't think of anything else right now.

"Shut up." Dream huffs.

"How much do you dream about me Dream?" George is teasing him. He shifts his weight and Dream's hands inch up his thighs.

"Oh, you don't want to know the answer to that." Dream tells George sagely.

George goes wide-eyed in embarrassment. "Maybe not." His eyebrows raise. "Maybe?"

And Dream laughs, air forced out of his lungs, his chest rising and falling. "Whatever, you wouldn't be able to handle it."

"Really? I'm not the one obsessed with me."

"What?" Dream laughs at whatever this idiot is saying. 

"You know Dream. You know." George says, vaguely, confidently.

"Nothing you say makes any sense."

George looks at him long and slow. "Yeah... you know." He nods, still playing into whatever this bit is.

"Dumbass."

And because he's been wanting to do this for so long, Dream sits up properly, his hands come to cup George's face and brush against his cheeks. He swipes over George's bottom lip with his thumb. George's tongue flicks out, licking over it and Dream practically passes away.

He keeps having to remind himself that they've got time. That he can take this slow and not desperately crash himself into George like he wants to.

He starts to lean in, George starts speaking.

"Do you think we had to be best friends first? To get here?"

"Huh?" Dream just wants to kiss George again. His brain isn't working any more. But George is looking at him like he wants an answer. Clearly expecting Dream to have one ready to go.

George smirks. The little shit is definitely doing this on purpose.

"If we met now for the first time. Do you think anything would have worked out differently?"

"I don't know. Maybe we'd hate each other. Maybe it would be the exact same." Dream shrugs.

"What if we were acquaintances. Could you imagine us ever not knowing each other how we do? Just being strangers."

That sounds like hell. Dream doesn't want to imagine a world without George in it. He frowns at the idea of it.

"I think. If you're in my life you're always going to have an impact, George. No matter what universe or timeline or multiverse we're in."

"Do you think there's a timeline where we hate each other?"

Dream can only feel amused by all these questions. What goes on in George's head that he thinks about things like that out of the blue?

"I dunno. There are too many variables. We always have to impact each other's lives in some way. Good or bad. That's more likely than a timeline where we're strangers."

"There could be timelines though, where we never meet."

"There could. But those would be worse than the evil Dream and George timelines."

"Okay. So what if we were evil together? That could be cool. We like... murder people and stuff."

"What the fuck George?" Dream laughs sharply. "Why would we murder anyone?"

"I don't know. It's evil timeline. Maybe we get annoyed at Sapnap and kill him or something."

"He'd have to be with us, get real. If we're evil George and Dream then Sapnap's got to be evil too."

"Yeah, until we murder him for being annoying." George rolls his eyes, like, _duh, obviously._ Even though Dream inherently disagrees with that faulty logic.

"Shut up. we're not murdering Sapnap."

"I might. Would you help me cover it up?"

"I am not having a conversation about murdering Sapnap and helping you hide the body, nimrod."

"So... you're saying you would help?"

"George. You are impossible."

"Obtuse." George squints at him, just to be an asshole.

"Idiot." 

Dream kisses him then, a flurry of motion as he pushes George back into the couch. A clash of teeth and the wet, hot bite of George's bottom lip. He wants George tousled and flushed and he gets it. George takes a gasping breath and Dream feels the shocky thrill of it down his spine.

Moving so he's on top with George trapped beneath him, knees pushed apart. Not really much of a trap, George is just grinning up at him, Dream between his thighs and clearly enjoying every moment of this. That he's got Dream to take action against him. Dream needs a moment, to imprint this image in his brain.

"You think I'm pretty," George whispers.

"Shut up. You know you are, George." He sighs against George's cheek.

"Yeah, but you think I am."

"Okay?" Dream raises an eyebrow.

"I think you're pretty, pretty too," George tells him, shrugging.

"Pretty, pretty?"

"Yeah, just like a bit I guess." George does this eye roll-sigh-combo like he's forced the compliment out. The charade is broken by the white flash of teeth as he looks up through his eyelashes at Dream. Dream wants to lick over his teeth with his tongue. He might if he gets the chance, after he's argued with George of course.

"Okay, in your opinion." Dream establishes.

George snorts. "Now who knows how hot they are."

"So, you admit I'm hot?" Dream grins.

"I hate you."

"No, I don't think so."

George tugs at Dream's shoulders to pull him in but Dream slips, collapsing on top of George's chest with a not very manly shriek.

"What was that?" George cackles as Dream rights himself.

"That was your fault, if you didn't want me so much that would not have happened. Reign it in George, jeez."

George laughs loud in surprise, eyes crinkling shut. Dream can only blink in wonder.

"Think it's the other way around," George tells him. "You want me."

"Oh?"

Dream moves towards him and George feels the air stop short in his lungs as Dream's mouth takes his captive. Dream puts every inch of himself into it. For all the times he wanted to kiss George but didn't. Too many to count, mixed up with London streets, the warm light in George's kitchen, the smell of oranges and rain. Kissing with George's finger's curling in the collar of his shirt. 

Pulling away slowly, mouth moving where he can press two chaste kisses to George's jaw. Irresistibly close to his mouth. Further down, he breathes for a moment against George's neck before he makes a move to press his mouth to it.

George feels lightheaded from the contact. Like all of his blood is rushing somewhere, somewhere that isn't his brain.

Dream kisses him on his spit-slick lips once more, chaste and too quick before he's pulling back, George chasing after the contact with a soft whine.

"Who wants who?" Dream whispers against George's cheek and he flushes perfect red as Dream's stares down at him. Green eyes full and set on George's mouth, looking up to his face slowly. George doesn't have a second to retort, because Dream's lips are already back on his. Hungry with want.

With avid fervour, Dream's fingers slip into George's hair and George moves to meet him, pushing up so he can press against Dream as much as he wants.

Dream has other ideas, he smiles into their kiss, uses his weight to anchor George to the sofa, his hands travel down George's stomach, gripping the bottom of his t-shirt and holding it in his fingers, brushing against his warm stomach. His hands slide under with ease, gripping at George's waist, not as hard as he could but grip bold enough that George gasps in surprise at the contact. George blinks and Dream pulls the shirt off with George's help, throwing it down onto the floor next to them.

Dream remembers George in London, the few times they changed in the same room and getting glimpses at bare skin. Being so struck by the sight of it he could barely think, almost forgetting you couldn't just stare at your best friend like that without reason. Wanting to see all of George but accepting that this was all he would get. 

Here he is now with George enthusiastically pliant beneath him, waiting for Dream to touch him some more.

"I haven't even told you yet have I?"

Dream's lying with George resting on his chest, hands in George's hair when George breaks the comfortable silence. If you can imagine it, somewhere between travelling from the sofa to the bed, they've lost their clothes. Wonder how that happened!

"Told me what?" Dream asks, is it a normal thing to want to lick someone's eyebrow? Dream doesn't think so. But he kisses George there because he doesn't think he has yet.

"Dream." George gives him a look when he pulls away. God, Dream can't get over George looking at him like that. 

The way George says his name, Dream knows exactly what it means.

"Oh," he whispers, voice scratchy, barely a noise at all.

"Do you want me to say it, now?" George is smiling, bright and dumb, all-encompassing. 

"Please say it." He knows how he must sound, he doesn't care.

George moves and he looks slightly embarrassed that Dream is just waiting, watching. But Dream doesn't care.

George sighs for dramatic effect like he's hard done by and it's taking all his effort to say this. "I love you."

Smiling impishly afterwards, watching Dream's reaction.

And Dream can't handle it, it's too much, something is burning inside of him. He pulls George in, burying his face in George's hair and just tries to remember how to breathe and then George goes and says it again, against where Dream's neck meets his shoulder. He feels lightheaded with love and wanting.

"George." Dream breathes out against his hair. George pulls him back into view.

"You're all red." George is teasing and his eyes are knowing, Dream hates it and loves him and it's all too much.

"I'm not." He manages.

"I love you Dream."

Dream collapses, boneless again. George is evil, George is the absolute worst human being in existence. Something needs to be done to stop him. He can't keep getting away with this.

They wake up at some unknown time the next day and George is laying across from Dream. There's no foggy unknown as awareness comes back to him. He knows straight away where and who he is with. It feels the same as London and yet not at all. Because George can reach out, run his fingers with delicate touch over the slope of Dream's nose, down his cheek, across the stretch of his jaw. Follow the path of resistant stubble down to Dream's throat where lies a barely-there shadow he hasn't had chance to shave. 

The difference is in now knowing he wants this, that this is something he can have.

His hand is captured while he's distracted and he watches it, taken into the clutches of Dream's grip. He presses the knuckles to his mouth. George inhales. Dream's eyes open slowly, heavy-lidded from sleep.

"Hi." Dream's voice is small and quiet. More a noise coming out of an uncleared throat, cracking on as little as this single-syllable word.

"Hello," George replies.

"What are we doing today?" And his voice is still rough like sandpaper. He pulls George's hand to his chest, where he keeps it there, his own hand still wrapped around it.

"I don't know, you're the tour guide. You tell me."

Dream laughs, a puff of air forced out of his nose. "Can't you come up with something?"

George just shrugs.

"Very helpful George."

"That's what they call me, Helpful George."

"Oh, yeah. Definitely."

"Glad we're in agreement."

Dream rolls his eyes, lazily pushes himself upright. Carefully letting go of George's hand. He searches the room with the turn of his head.

His hair is a perfect mess, the too-long waves ruffled, sticking up wildly. George doesn't have to imagine how it would feel under his fingertips, he knows it. Velvet-soft. Made for touching.

"Do you know where my phone is?" Dream turns.

"Probably in your pants."

"Do you know where my pants are?"

George grins.

"Shut up." Dream snorts and George is delighted.

"Didn't say anything."

"Okay."

Dream stretches with a yawn, chest tightening and relaxing, muscles shifting. When he's done making. a show of himself, he asks: "Where's yours?"

"Wherever my clothes are."

"Helpful George, strikes again."

"He's a saint." George grins, Dream kisses his forehead for it and so George grins some more.

Then Dream is shoving away the sheets, standing upright. This is different to London. Dream's naked and George feels sheepish as though he shouldn't be looking. Even though he has seen everything already. Dream looks back at George like he knows that George knows this too. 

Dream finds a pair of underwear and pulls those on at least, before swanning around the room, amused by George's eyes following him around. He collects last nights disregarded clothes as he goes. Disappears into the other room for a long moment before coming back, phone and clothes now in hand. He throws George's at the bed. Sets the pile of clothes at the end of it.

"It's later than I expected." Dream hums. George checks his own phone, it reads just after one in the afternoon.

"I need to go home, get some fresh clothes. Then we could do something."

"I don't feel like doing much. I could come to your house with you?"

"Sure, that sounds good."

Getting ready takes longer than expected. First Dream has to use one of the little disposable toothbrushes the hotel provides. This didn't take long to decide. but there was this whole argument before they found the eco-friendly bamboo brush provided, where Dream tried to convince George to let him use his toothbrush. Which, gross. Clearly, Dream is an insane person and George needs to rethink his life choices. He'd argued that the things in his mouth had already been in George's and George actually considered leaving back to England and never speaking to Dream again.

Anyway, they brush their teeth side by side, pulling faces at each other in the mirror. Dream starting something he won't be able to finish when he jabs George in his side repeatedly, leaping out of the way when George retaliates. All the while toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. Eyes widening when George's hands follow after him.

George has to spit into the sink. "You will die." He threatens, menacing in his boxers with minty foam stuck to the corner of his mouth.

Dream has no choice but to kiss it away. 

"See, might as well have shared toothbrushes." He says after, clearly so very amused with himself. George wants to punt him into the sun. He kisses Dream again, will punt later.

They end up using up the entirety of the hotel's hot water in the shower. George yelping in surprise when the temperature changes from perfectly warm to freezing cold and Dream laughs himself breathless as they retreat out onto the tiled floor, rushing to get wrapped in towels. George has to catch Dream, too busy laughing to pay attention and stay balanced. Managing to slip across the wet surface of the bathroom floor and almost break something. George the only thing keeping him upright.

"My knight in shining towel." Dream had quipped.

"Shut up." And George had kissed him into the counter, which quickly stopped Dream laughing at his own dumb joke. Something George will forever remember he has the power to do. 

Dream ends up wearing one of George's t-shirts with his own jeans from yesterday. He'd sorted through all of George's shirts until he'd found a black one he wanted to wear. As though it was an impossibly difficult decision. It's not, George's t-shirts are basically all the same with the odd logo on the front if he's feeling fancy.

"Wow, great choice." George, who had watched this unfold, says dryly.

Dream just pulls a face at him, it's really mature and respectable. 

They get out of the room eventually. Taking the elevator down to the ground floor and the car. Dream isn't sure he was supposed to park in the hotel lot overnight without a permit, but he doesn't have a ticket or anything so he counts it as a win.

  
There's nothing that much different about being with Dream before and now. They still talk dumb shit and George still argues pettily. Dream with enough bullshitting confidence to always think he's right. They still call each other idiot fondly and Dream gives him these long looks afterwards. Those have just always been there. George remembers because he started trying to catalogue Dream facial expressions in London (there are too many to count it turns out, an impossible task) he recognises this one and it's like _oh, so we've always been on our way here._

In the car, Dream lets George pick the music even though the driver always picks. Because they like the same things and even when they don't Dream would listen to whatever George wanted, just to understand him a little more. Songs he never thought he'd like become favourites that way. George talks shit about America again and Dream bullies him about the UK. Differences lie in George putting his hand on Dream's knee at a stoplight and kissing his cheek just to watch him get flustered. Because George knows Dream will try to get revenge at some point later. He's counting on it. 

"I almost told you when we were in that place, Camden?" Dream is saying while George scrolls through his Spotify to queue up some songs to play.

"The tent-thing with all the lights?" George looks over, Dream's hands are on the wheel, glancing at George whenever he can.

"Yeah. I swear to god if we stayed there a second longer I might have." His hand flexes on the wheel. Interesting. George blinks.

"I liked that day. Remember—" And George breaks in laughter, he drops the phone back into the cupholder between them. There's a Travis Scott song playing that makes Dream glance at him fondly. "Remember the ice cream?"

Dream's face morphs into shocked remembrance. "That was your fault! I still haven't forgot that you owe me, by the way."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll buy you one. Whatever. But you should have seen the look on your face." George cackles again.

"You've only told me a thousand million times." Dream rolls his eyes.

"You looked like you'd just been told someone died!"

"I dropped my ice cream! I was looking forward to eating that and you didn't even let me have any of yours when you knocked it out of my hand! So rude. I can't believe you wouldn't share."

"I let you have some. It was my ice cream!"

"Yeah, a single, pathetic lick. That is nothing George."

"I told you to just go buy another one." George shrugs, he has no remorse at all. Teasing Dream is where he gets his kicks after all.

"No. That's way too embarrassing."

"Why? No one would have cared!"

"Because I'm not an eight-year-old girl who dropped her ice cream all over the floor. I'm a man, we just man-up and accept it for what it is." He straightens his shoulders to exaggerate, George catches the curl of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

"So why are you whining? Like a baby?" George argues.

"Shut up. You're a baby."

George laughs at the frowny huff Dream exhales and the way he turns up the song in retaliation. Keeping his eyes on the road for a good ten seconds before he glances back at George again.   
  


Dream's house stands in the same spot it did last time, though George still gets it confused with half the other houses on the street. Dream looks around uncertainly as they step through the door.

"This is it." Dream looks back.

"Cool." George steps past, the first interior doorway leads to the kitchen. He walks through to it, knowing Dream is watching. Idiot makes a big deal out of everything. 

"I was so used to your kitchen, when I got home I almost forget where everything was here." Dream admits quietly. It doesn't sound true, you can't just forget where everything you own is, realistically. George thinks he understands feeling out of place in your own home though. His flat felt so much different with Dream gone that it became hard to remember there was a time before Dream at all.

"The plant on my windowsill," George remembers all at once as he's staring at the kitchen sink. "Did you water that?"

"You clearly weren't." Dream ducks his head, looking past George then back to him then back to the kitchen again.

"I forgot. There were more important things to think about." George says.

"It's in plain view George. I don't understand how you could forget." Dream looks at him properly now.

"Too busy thinking about you in my bed, to be honest." 

Dream's eyes widen. George's do too and they just stand still, like the two emotionally numb idiots they are. Shy like teenagers on a first date.

"Don't you think it's funny how we slept in the same bed for that long, but like, nothing happened," George says eventually because reverting to his teenage self is not something he, or anyone else, needs in their life. Teenage George was the worst.

"Do you wish something did?" Dream asks.

"Obviously. But then again, we both had shit we needed to figure out first." 

"Obviously." Dream echoes. Lost on the first statement, agreeing with the second.

George wonders how he didn't see it in London. Dream's love is loud and reckless. He reacts to George's words like a man drowning in them. 

They drink the orange juice from Dream's fridge. It's not quite sharing an orange slice by slice. But it works. Dream drinks from George's glass and complains that apple juice is superior. He's not wrong. George has pressed himself snuggly against Dream's shoulder.

"Do you think it would be weird if we went live right now?" Dream looks at him suddenly, the idea clearly just coming to him.

"What do you mean?" George asks, uncertain.

"After what happened. And now you're here with me." Dream surmises.

"Who cares. We don't owe anyone to tell them what's going on."

"It's hard sometimes, I think people expect it. Want to know everything that we do." He's fiddling with the bottom of George's shirt absently, rolling the hem between his fingers.

"Sure." George shrugs, aware already. "Don't have to give them reasons we do things though. Keep them guessing."

"You're mean."

George just shrugs and Dream can't help but agree. Keep them guessing.

**dreamingeorge**

> **Anonymous** said  
> are you watching dream's stream right now? dream and george are together,, in Florida,,, being incredibly soft and cute and giggly. i need to know your thoughts!

> Ack! I've only just finished work! Then I saw this ask waiting in my inbox. I've missed so so much! Watching the vod as we speak dearest anon! If the posts on my dash are anything to go by, holy shit! Going feral brb

_#insane #dream and george are a social experiment with the sole intention of making me go bonkers #watching the vod rn #not ten minutes in and #did george just say that dream snores in his sleep?? #yes he did #what the fuck george #what the fuck is going on #hello???? someone check i'm not dreaming #there is going to be a whole post soon #i'm writing notes out #putting more work into this than my overdue school assignments #ask tag #dnf #dreamnotfound_  
— **4 notes**

**SAPNAP**  
bro can we finally play Minecraft pleaseeeeee  
  


 **GEORGE**  
No

 **  
SAPNAP**  
WTF  
  


 **GEORGE**  
Dream thinks he can beat u at chess if u want to play?  
  


 **SAPNAP**  
LMAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OKAY SUUUURE  
  


 **SAPNAP**  
give me a sec  
  


 **GEORGE**  
k  
  


 **SAPNAP**  
i'm about to own that little bitch  
  


 **GEORGE**  
He says ur going to lose  
  


 **SAPNAP**  
HAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH  
  


 **SAPNAP**  
never laughed so hard in my damn life  
  


 **SAPNAP**  
yo answer  
  
 ****

 **SAPNAP**  
stop making out with dream and answer my fucking call asshole  
  


 **GEORGE**  
Shut Up  
  


 **SAPNAP**  
;) make me  
  


 **GEORGE**  
L  
  


 **SAPNAP**  
STOP HANGING UP  
  


 **GEORGE**  
Whoops, my hand slipped :]  
  


 **SAPNAP**  
STOP  
  


 **GEORGE**  
Say ur sorry  
  


 **SAPNAP**  
i'm sorry  
  


 **GEORGE**  
As u should be.  
  


 **SAPNAP**  
that you're such a little bitch  
  


 **GEORGE**  
Wrong thing to say :/  
  


 **SAPNAP**  
what are you going to do about it HUH??  
  


 **GEORGE**  
The cowboy pic.  
  


 **SAPNAP**  
u wouldn't   
  


**GEORGE**  
I would.  
  


 **SAPNAP**  
that is The Worst picture  
  


 **GEORGE**  
Naah I have much worse. That's just the start of it  
  


 **SAPNAP**  
whatever. shut up. just answer the call.  
  


 **GEORGE**  
Better have your apology ready  
  


 **SAPNAP**  
I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT U WANT ME TO APOLOGISE FOR??? IT WAS SO MINISCULE I'VE ALREADY FORGOTTEN

"Dream, your boyfriend is a dumb little bitch and I'm going to kill him." The words are as immediate as the call connecting. Dream looks at George, eyebrows raised to his hairline.

"Well, you're not. But okay." Dream says, giving George a quizzical look.

"You're the one being annoying!" George exclaims, ignoring Dream's expression.

"Me! You're the one threatening to post bad pictures of me for no goddamn reason!" Sapnap yells.

Oh, Dream snorts. That explains it.

"Which photo?" He has to ask, there are too many possibilities. 

"The cowboy picture." George and Sapnap say at the same time. Sapnap sounds in pain and George is gleeful.

Dream laughs loudly. "George, that is an awful picture. You aren't posting that anywhere."

"He's the one who antagonised me!"

 _"He's the one who antagonised me!"_ Sapnap mimics George's whine. "Shut up!"

"Can we just play chess? The two of you are as bad as each other." Dream sits back in his chair, glancing at George, a long-suffering look on his features.

"Not true," George says quickly.

"Yeah, George is way worse!"

"Stop!" They'll go on forever if he doesn't bring it to an end now. "Sapnap, join the game already. You two have spent way too long being annoying."

"Okay. George can't help you though!" Sapnap adds quickly, they hear the clicks of his keyboard as he types.

"Obviously." George rolls his eyes, then turns to Dream. "I can't wait to see Dream lose to you."

"Thanks." Dream says dryly and George just stays smirking.

"I think that was an unintentional compliment. George thinks I'm better than you Dream, _hah!_ " Sapnap gloats.

"Yeah and I'm proving you both wrong. Just wait." Dream cracks his knuckles, rolls the chair front and centre to his monitors. George is sat right next to him, rubbing his hands together and so clearly revelling in this. His eyes bright, biting his lip as his eyes flick between the monitor and Dream. Never once telling Dream what to do but clearly amused by all of his choices.

Inevitably, Dream loses and George and Sapnap crucify him, loudly, insultingly and through winding laughter. Dream is bad at chess, George is lucky he's pretty and Sapnap is pleased that life will continue as it always has. With Dream and George being sickeningly cute and him the begrudging friend who secretly adores them.

He dreams of a man in porcelain mask. You know the rest. Pale-blue ribbon. Golden-brown hair. Green cloak, fallen hood. Shining armour. An axe that gleams. The same as it always is.

Air so still and heavy it feels like wading through sweet sticky syrup. A place that's not quite physical, that may be a field or a house or nothing at all.

A man that is surely Dream. Mask poorly repaired, imposing smile off-centre.

But this time, through the heavy fog, they step forward together. Impossible fog it must be because despite it being so thick that the whole world is nothing around them, Dream and George are in perfect focus. 

In steady asynchrony, they draw near. George first then Dream.

Dream's bare hands stretch forth, which is odd. With all the armour he is wearing George thought they would be gloved.

But George's hands reach out to meet them, he has little hesitation about it. He knows the calloused curl of those bony fingers, the soft palm, scar on the side of Dream's right thumb - a small pale sliver from an incident long ago. And this time. Dream's hands guide George's up to the delicate mask that covers his face. 

A weighted presence, hand sliding to wrist once George's warm touch makes contact with the cold porcelain edge. A gesture that is reassuring. And so George knows the intention. He reaches around for the ribbon, taking care to be gentle with the golden hair that may be caught in his grip as he pulls it free. Lets the mask fall into his hands and fall away, George may drop it in the fog but it hits no ground. As soon as it is out of his hand it seemingly disappears.

Here is the face of a man he knows. Smiling at him, eyes creased by the weight of his grin. One of the smile's he has when caught in a memory, laughing at something that George once said.

His fingers slide in their grip so they are touching George's, palm to palm.

He doesn't need to fall this time. He already has.  
  


George wakes up. Dream's hand is tracing circles against his skin, his face pressed into the nape of George's neck. It can't be comfortable to lay like that for so long. But Dream doesn't seem concerned at all.

Part of George is still without understanding. Part of him hoped coming to Orlando would make it clearer. It isn't, the words and things he feel don't just suddenly fit like the last puzzle pieces. He's not good at filing through his emotions, would rather just not think about them all too much. But he's trying his hardest to be open now. He came to Orlando because he needed this as much as Dream did. With Dream now, it's no more defined. But it's easier, it's safe here where he knows Dream feels just as bewildered by all this. That they can pull this apart as carefully as they want to, with as much time as it may take.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter song: i wanna be yours — arctic monkeys
> 
> bonus chapter songs! (there's a few oops): i always knew — the vaccines, dunno — mac miller, easy — pale waves, goosebumps — travis scott
> 
> First of all, sorry for the delay, I've had uni work distracting me and wanted this chapter to not be rushed! So it took a while to get sorted.
> 
> Second, how do you end things? Do I say goodbye? Do I just leave out the back door? Idk what you want from me.. Imma say thank you very much for reading and going through all this with me. I've enjoyed myself too much lmao. But yeah, I hope you have enjoyed it too :)
> 
> I guess I'll plug my socials for the first and last time ever. if you want to scream over Minecraft block people with me follow @heartsighss on Twitter where I mainly livetweet streams and occasionally cry over music, and Tumblr! I still need to switch from a sideblog to a mainblog tho so things are a bit messy on that end lmao.
> 
> So! These are the last things left to say and they're just some dumb notes I made while writing the chapter that you may find enjoyment in. Idk, sometimes I like to ramble and overshare and other times I wish to Not Be Known. I was feeling overshare-y here :)
> 
> My dad's always been a big Arctic Monkeys fan. Since they released their first album really. I've always thought it was cool to have a dad who liked music as much as him. He's the one who gave me my very shitty, very brit-pop/rock taste. I remember when this album came out and we would listen to it on my pink barbie cd player, bc I was obviously a very cool kid. And then he went to see them live, WITHOUT ME. Forever jealous of it. Anyway, I had to include an Arctic Monkey's song and I Wanna Be Yours is one of my favourites :)
> 
> Watched Emma (2020), Pride and Prejudice (2005) and Chicago (2002) as research and preparation for writing this. What do they have to do with this chapter? Absolutely nothing I'm just subtly recommending you these three films (take the hint).
> 
> I went to the Madame Tussauds at Icon Park in Orlando and the only good thing about it is the waxwork Shrek they have there. Yes, this is my review of Madame Tussauds in Orlando. 5/10 only for Shrek, not worth the dollars it costs but also the Shrek part was kinda funny. Idk if he's still there. He is life-size by the way. I'm telling you Shrek is Built Different. I'm sorry, you don't need to know this. But I need you to know this ty xo
> 
> Also, the playlist is complete!!! ft. extra songs tagged to the end. These are songs I really wanted to include but just didn't end up fitting in. They match the vibe of the fic overall and most importantly, I just enjoy them v much. Hope you do too <3 Link [here!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7qOHvo7rLvXuCZmUEVDjz0)
> 
> Also x2, I'm working on another fic atm which u can check out if u feel like it. It's a dnf band au :) Ft. Famous Masked Singer Dream and The Feral Boys as the band supporting him on tour.
> 
> Finally, THANK YOU! Insane how much love this fic has been given and I'm so very thankful so just <3333 !!!  
> Take my love pls.  
> Congrats to you if you made it all the way to the end <3


End file.
